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As  the  quick  transportation  of  wounded —  from  the  front  to  the  nearest  hospital  — 
is  so  great  a  factor  in  saving  their  lives,  the  American  Ambulance  Field  Service  was 
organized  soon  after  the  beginning  of  the  war,  and  during  the  subsequent  two  years  its 
achievement  has  fully  demonstrated  the  value  of  its  purpose.  It  has  now  in  the  field 
more  than  200  motor  ambulances.  These  are  driven  by  young  American  volunteers, 
most  of  whom  are  graduates  of  American  universities.  To  them  has  been  successfully 
entrusted  the  vitally  important  matter  of  bringing  the  wounded  in  the  shortest  pos- 
sible time  from  the  trenches  to  places  where  the  first  surgical  help  can  be  given. 
Upon  this  first  surgical  help  largely  depends,  naturally,  the  chance  of  the  wounded 
surviving  long  enough  to  reach  the  base  hospitals.  These  ambulances  are  grouped  in 
sections  of  twenty  to  thirty  cars,  and  attached  to  the  French  Armies.  They  carry 
wounded  between  the  front  and  the  Army  Hospitals  within  the  Army  Zone.  So 
valiantly  has  their  work  been  done  that  in  each  section  a  number  of  these  men  have 
been  given  the  croix  de  guerre  for  gallantry  under  fire. 

This  service  with  the  French  Armies  at  the  front  is  maintained  through  a  special 
Field  Service  Fund,  and  those  desiring  to  give  to  it  should  send  their  contributions 
as  directed  below.  Curtailing  expenses  to  the  lowest  point  consistent  with  efficiency, 
a  monthly  expenditure  of  approximately  $11,000.^  is  now  found  requisite.  This 
amount  is  being  raised  by  single  gifts  —  or  by  monthly  subscriptions  for  any  number 
of  months,  or  the  duration  of  the  war.  These  monthly  contributions  of  course  vary 
greatly,  according  to  the  means  of  those  who  are  kind  enough  to  help;  in  two  or 
three  cases  extraordinarily  generous  amounts  being  given,  and  in  many  instances 
monthly  sums  ranging  from  $5.°°  up  to  $100.™  having  been  promised.  Needless  to 
say  contributions  of  any  size  —  monthly  or  single  —  will  be  most  gratefully  received. 
Guarantees  for  the  year  at  present  amount  to  about  $5000."  monthly.  As  this  sum 
—  even  with  numerous  additional  gifts  —  is  msufBcient  for  current  needs  it  is  very 
keenly  hoped  that  those  who  during  the  past  year  have  been  so  generous  as  to  con- 
tribute to  the  purchase  of  the  ambulances  in  use,  and  others  who  can 
more  fully  appreciate  the  true  worth  of  this  work  to  France,  may  feel  ' 
what  they  are  able  toward  guaranteeing  its  continuation. 


Cheques  may  be  made  p.ayable  to 

1.  Am.  Field  Service  Fund  " 

)  Lee,  Higginson  &  Co.,  State  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


erhaps 
to  do 


CUtfPhpician  American  Ambulance  Hospital  in  Pari 


***•*•  ********<!?* -J.  ij.  ij.  **  .j|(.  ^.  .ill.  *.*.  .Ji. .}. -J.  .*.  .fr -J.  .fr  4.  *  ^ -J. '^^ 

J*  Owing  to  the  fact  that  five  new  sections  of  ambulances  have  recently  been  J* 
^  sent  to  the  front,  the  waiting  list  of  the  past  eighteen  months  has  been  de-  ^ 
4(  pleted,  and  accordingly  a  limited  number  of  4. 

J  Volunteer  Ambulance  Drivers  are  Wanted  4- 

4»  New  men  are  also  needed  from  time  to  time  to  fill  the  places  of  those  who  4- 
^  return  to  America  on  leave,  or  who  are  unable  to  re-enlist  at  the  expiration  of  "t" 
I  their  six  months  in  the  field.  J 

T  REQUISITE  QUALIFICATIONS  J 

4,         American  Citiiei.ship  —  Good  Health  —  Clean  Kecord  —  Ability  to  drive  and  repair  Automobiles  4. 

^  ~  Sufficient  Funds  to  assume  Travelling  Expenses.      (No  salary,  but  living  expenses  paid.)  ^ 

^  F.ir  further  details  and  terms  of  service  apply  to  ^ 

orto  HENBT  D.   SLEEPER  J 

c/o  Lee,  Higginson  &  Co.,  ^ 


I  d^  i!lt  if.  dpi^H^Hf,  Jfj  Jf,  if,  iff,  tj,  t^  i^  t^  i*.  i*j  i*j  1*^  tj,  i*j  iijj  i*j  i^''  .?*  4*  4*  '*. 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 


c^^  y^rance  yu 


u^rrter^ 


a€/'cr/pca   ^y  /^ 


oo^o/ton  anJt  Ib-ei/^  UarJi 

utou^l^ton  Jlbwun  Gctnpanv 
iji6 


COPYRIOHT,   1916,   BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  August  iqit 


t) 


CONTENTS 

Introduction A.  Piatt  Andrew  xv 

Letter  from  Section  Leaders xix 

I.  The  Organization  of  the  Service    Stephen  Galatti      1 

n.  At  the  Back  of  the  Front:  Dunkirk  and  Ypreb 

Henry  Sydnor  Harrison      6 

rn.  The  Section  in  Alsace  Reconquise 

Preston  Lockwood    21 

IV.  Last  Days  in  Alsace      .      .      .    Everett  Jackson    51 

V.  The  Section  in  Lorraine      .  James  R.  McConnell    61 
With  an  introduction  by  Theodore  Roosevelt 

VI.  An  American  Ambulance  in  the  Verdun  Attack 

Frank  Hoyt  Gailor    89 

VII.  The  Section  at  Verdun  .      .      .    Henry  Sheahan  109 

VIII.  The  Section  in  Flanders  .     Joshua  G.  B.  Campbell  117 

IX.  The  Beqinninqs  of  a  New  Section  George  Rockwell  131 

X.  Un  Blesse  a  Montauvillb     .      .       Emery  Pottle  136 

XI.  Christmas  Eve,  1915   ....      Waldo  Peirce  130'' ^ 

Xn.  The  Inspector's  Letter  Box 148 

Our  ambulances  —  How  the  cars  reach  Paris  —  ^n 
route  for  the  front  —  First  impressions  —  The  daily  pro- 
gramme —  Handling  the  wounded  —  The  wounded  — 
Night  duty  —  Fitting  into  the  life  —  Paysages  de  guerre 
—  Soldier  life  —  July  22  at  Pont-&-Mousson  —  Incidents 

vii 


CONTENTS 

XII.  The  Inspector's  Letter  Box  (continued)        .      .148 

of  a  driver's  life  —  Three  Croix  de  Guerre  —  From  day  to 
day  —  From  another  diary  —  Further  pages  —  A  night 
trip  —  An  attack  —  Poilu  hardships  —  Winter  in  Alsace 

—  Weeks  of  quiet  —  Night  —  Morning —  Stray  thoughts 

—  A  gallant  blessS  —  Perils  of  a  blizzard  —  Poignant 
impressions  —  In  the  hospital  —  New  quarters. 

The  Poetry  of  War 226 

Champagne,  1914-15 227 

XIII.  Tributes  and  Citations 230 

XIV.  Members  of  the  Field  Service 287 


THE  MEMBERS   OF  THE  FIELD  SERVICE 

DESIRE  TO  EXPRESS  SINCERE  GRATITUDE 

TO 

M.  CHARLES  HUARD 

AND  TO 
M.  BERNARD  NAUDIN 

FOE 

THE  INTEREST  WHICH 

THEIR  DISTINGUISHED  TALENT 

HAS  ADDED  TO  THIS  BOOK 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

La  France  Ouerriere Frontispiece 

Dunkirk,  May,  1915 6 

An  American  Ambulance  in  Flanders 10 

An  American  Ambulance  in  Ypres 12 

Soldiers  marching   by  American  Ambulances  in  a   Flemish 

Town 14 

Americans  in  their  Gas-Masks .16 

The  Col  de  Bussang  —  the  Gate  to  Alsace  Reconquise  ...  22 

Supplies  for  the  Soldiers  being  carried  on  Mules  over  the  Vosges 

Mountains 24 

At  a  Valley  "Poste"  {MitUach) 24 

American  Drivers  in  Alsace 28 

A  "Poste  de  Secours''  in  the  Valley  of  the  Fecht         ...  80 

Sharing  Meals  at  a  "Poste'' SO 

La  Terre  Promise 36 

The  Harvard  Club  of  Alsace  Reconquise 42 

Winter  Days  in  Alsace 54 

Effect  of  German  Shells  in  Alsace  (Thann) 58 

On  the  Road  to  Hartmannsweilerkopf,  December,  1915  .       .  58 

Shells  breaking  on  the  C6te-de-Mousson 70 

Watching  an  Aeroplane  Duel  in  Pont-a-Mousson      ...  70 

In  Front  of  a  *' Paste  de  Secours'*    ...       ....  74 

An  American  Ambulance  Driver 74 

xi 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

On  the  Road  to  Bois-le-Pretre 78 

Fontaine  du  Pere  Hilarion,  Bois-le-Pretre 78 

Loading  the  Ambulance 94 

At  a  ''Poste''  at  the  Very  Front 104 

Soldiers  of  France 110 

Americans  in  their  Gas-Masks  in  front  of  the  bomb-proof  shelter 
outside  of  the  Headquarters 118 

A  ** Poste  de  Secours'' in  Flanders 122 

Waiting  at  a  **Poste  de  Secours*' 122 

A  Winter  Day  in  Flanders 124 

A  Group  of  American  Drivers  in  Northern  France     .      .      .128 

The  Cathedral  in  Nieuport,  July,  1915 128 

Some  of  the  Members  of  Section  IV 132 

Approaching  the  High-Water  Mark 134 

**Poilv^"  and  Americans  sharing  their  Lunch     ....  134 

Richard  Hall 144 

Richard  Hall's  Grave 146 

An  Inspection  Trip  in  Alsace 152 

Within  Sight  of  the  German  Trenches 154 

Stretchers  slung  between  Two  Wheels  on  their  Way  from  the 
Trenches 156 

Evacuating  a  Hospital 158 

Transferring  the  Wounded  to  the  Train 158 

The  End  of  an  Ambulance 166 

xii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Decoration  of  Carey  and  Hale 178 

A  Winter  Morning 182 

Alsatian  Woods  in  Winter 182 

The  "Poste  de  Secours"  near  Efarimannsweilerkopf         .       .186 

Winter  in  Alsace 194 

What  Night  Trips  vnthout  Lights  sometimes  mean  .       .      .212 

The  Dangers  of  the  Road 212 

Mide  Convoy  in  Alsace 214 

The  "Poste'*  near  Hartmannsweilerkopf  after  a  Bombardment  214 

One  of  our  Cars  in  Trouble 216 

Coffins  in  Courtyard  of  Base  Hospital  in  Alsace  .      .      ,       .216 
Richard  HalVs  Car  after  Shell  landed  under  it  .      .      .      .  218 

A  *'Poste  de  Secours'*  at  Montauville 222 

The  " Croix  de  Guerre" 247 

"  Vive  la  France  /  " 297 

PORTRAITS   OF   MEN   ** CITED" 

Roger  M.  L.  Balbiani 250 

Leslie  Buswell 250 

John  Campbell 252 

Graham  Carey ,      .      ,  252 

E.  J.  Curley 254 

D.  B.  Douglass 254 

L.  C.  Doyle 256 

xiii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Powel  Fenton 25G 

Stephen  Galatti 258 

Halcott  Glover 258 

Richard  Hall 2C0 

Lovering  Hill 2C2 

Dudley  Hale 2C4 

Walter  Lovell 264 

James  R.  McConnell 266 

William  T.  Martin 266 

J.  Mellen 268 

Francis  Dashwood  Ogilvie 268 

J.  T.  Putnam 270 

Durani  Rice 270 

Gecrrge  Roeder 272 

Edward  Salisbury 272 

Bernard  Schroder 274 

H.  Suckley 274 

John  Taylor 276 

Donald  M.  Walden 276 

Victor  White 278 

J.  M.  Walker 280 

Harold  Willis 280 

William  H.  Woolverton 282 


INTRODUCTION 

Les  fitats-Unis  d'Am^rique  n'ont  pas  oublies  que  la  premiere  page  de 
I'histoire  de  leur  independance  a  4t6  6crite  avee  un  peu  de  sang  frangais. 
(Giniral  Jqffre.) 

The  following  pages,  written  and  edited  in  the  course 
of  active  service  in  France,  tell,  however  imperfectly, 
something  of  the  experiences  of  a  small  group  of  young 
Americans  who  have  not  been  inert  onlookers  during 
the  Great  War. 

Few  in  number  and  limited  in  their  activities,  this 
little  band  of  American  ambulance  drivers  in  France 
is  of  course  insignificant  when  compared  with  the 
tens  of  thousands  of  young  Frenchmen  who  crossed 
the  ocean  as  soldiers  and  sailors  to  help  America  in 
1777.  To  the  valor  and  devotion  of  these  Frenchmen 
we  owe  our  very  existence  as  an  independent  nation, 
and  nothing  that  Americans  have  done  for  France 
during  these  last  hard  years  of  trial  can  be  thought 
of  —  without  embarrassment  —  in  relation  with  what 
Frenchmen  did  for  us  in  those  unforgettable  years  of 
our  peril  from  1777  to  1781. 

The  little  group  of  Americans  told  of  in  this  book 
who,  during  the  past  two  years,  have  dedicated  valiant 
effort  and,  not  unfrequently,  risked  their  lives  in  the 
service  of  France,  can  best  be  thought  of  as  only  a 

XV 


INTRODUCTION 

symbol  of  millions  of  other  Americans,  men  and  wo- 
men, who  would  gladly  have  welcomed  an  opportun- 
ity to  do  what  these  men  have  done  —  or  more.  For, 
notwithstanding  oflBcial  silence  and  the  injunctions 
of  presidential  prudence,  the  majority  of  Americans 
have  come  to  appreciate  the  meaning,  not  only  to 
France,  but  to  all  the  worid,  of  the  issues  that  are  to- 
day so  desperately  at  stake,  and  their  hearts  and  hopes 
are  all  with  France  in  her  gigantic  struggle.  They 
share  with  the  worid  at  large  a  feeling  towards  the 
French  people  of  sympathy,  of  admiration,  and,  in- 
deed, of  reverence,  such  as  exists  towards  the  people 
of  no  other  country;  and  millions  of  them,  hke  these 
volunteers  of  the  American  Ambulance,  have  been 
tortured  by  a  longing  to  have  some  share  with  the 
people  of  France  in  defending  the  ideals  for  which, 
as  they  feel,  America  has  always  stood,  and  for  which 
France  is  now  making  such  vast,  such  gallant,  and 
such  unflinching  sacrifice. 

The  service  to  France  of  Americans,  whether  am- 
bulance drivers,  surgeons,  nurses,  donors  and  dis- 
tributors of  relief,  aviators,  or  foreign  ISgionnaires, 
when  measured  by  the  prodigious  tasks  with  which 
France  has  had  to  cope  during  the  past  two  years,  has 
indeed  been  infinitesimally  small;  but  their  service  to 
America  itself  has  been  important.  They  have  ren- 
dered this  inestimable  benefit  to  their  country.  They 
have  helped  to  keep  alive  in  France  the  old  feeling  of 
friendship  and  respect  for  us  which  has  existed  there 
since  our  earliest  days  and  which,  otherwise,  would 

xvi 


INTRODUCTION 

probably  have  ceased  to  exist.  They  have  helped  to 
demonstrate  to  the  chivalrous  people  of  France  that 
Americans,  without  hesitating  to  balance  the  personal 
profit  and  loss,  still  respond  to  the  great  ideals  that 
inspired  the  founders  of  our  Republic.  They  have 
helped  France  to  penetrate  official  reticence  and  re- 
discover America's  surviving  soul. 

When  all  is  said  and  done,  however,  the  amhulanciers 
themselves  have  gained  the  most  from  the  work  in 
which  they  have  taken  part.  It  is  a  privilege  even  in 
ordinary  times  to  live  in  this  '^doux  pays  de  France,'*' 
to  move  about  among  its  gentle  and  finished  land- 
scapes, in  the  presence  of  its  beautiful  architectural 
heritages  and  in  daily  contact  with  its  generous,  sen- 
sitive, gifted,  and  highly  intelligent  people.  Life  in 
France,  even  in  ordinary  times,  means  to  those  of 
almost  any  other  country  daily  suggestions  of  cour- 
tesy, refinement,  and  thoughtful  consideration  for 
others.  It  means  continual  suggestions  of  an  intelli- 
gent perspective  in  the  art  of  living  and  in  the  things 
that  give  life  dignity  and  worth. 

The  opportunity  of  living  in  France,  as  these  Ameri- 
cans have  lived  during  the  past  two  years  of  war,  has 
meant  all  this  and  more.  It  has  meant  memories  of 
human  nature  exalted  by  love  of  country,  shorn  of 
self,  singing  amidst  hardships,  smiling  at  pain,  un- 
mindful of  death.  It  has  meant  contact  with  the  most 
gentle  and  the  most  intelligent  of  modern  peoples 
facing  mortal  peril  —  facing  it  with  silent  and  unshak- 
able resolve,  victoriously  resisting  it  with  modesty 

xvii 


INTRODUCTION 

and  with  never  a  vaunting  word.  It  has  meant  im- 
perishable visions  of  intrepidity  and  of  heroism  as 
fine  as  any  in  the  records  of  knight-errantry  or  in  the 
annals  of  Homeric  days. 

Nothing  else,  surely,  can  ever  offer  so  much  of  no- 
ble inspiration  as  these  glimpses  of  the  moral  gran- 
deur of  unconquerable  France. 

A.  Piatt  Andrew 
Inspector  of  the  Field  Service 


The  publication  of  this  book  presents  an  opportunity  of  show- 
ing our  appreciation  of  the  extraordinarily  successful  work  of 
A.  Piatt  Andrew  in  reorganizing  and  furthering  the  work  of  the 
Field  Service  of  the  American  Ambulance. 

Those  of  us  who  were  in  the  service  before  his  arrival  and  have 
continued  to  work  under  him  have  been  able  to  judge  the  effects  of 
his  efforts,  and  to  realize  the  amount  of  activity,  patience,  and 
tact  necessary  to  overcome  the  numerous  difficulties  which  pre- 
sented themselves.  It  was  through  the  confidence  placed  in  him 
by  the  French  military  authorities  that  the  small  American  squads, 
after  reorganization  to  army  standards,  were  allowed  to  take  po- 
sitions of  trust  at  the  front.  As  a  result  of  his  untiring  efforts  ia 
America  funds  were  raised  and  cars  donated  to  continue  and  ad- 
vance the  work. 

No  more  striking  proof  can  be  given  of  the  change  in  value  to 
the  Army  of  our  Service,  and  of  the  change  in  the  attitude  of  the 
authorities  towards  it,  than  the  recent  request  of  the  Automobile 
Service  to  the  American  Ambulance  for  another  Section.  When 
Mr.  Andrew  began  his  work  we  were  seeking  an  opportunity  to 
widen  our  sphere  of  work.  Now  the  efficiency  and  usefulness  of 
the  service  are  such  that  the  Army  has  requested  that  it  be  in- 
creased. 

We  all  owe  much  to  Mr.  Andrew :  his  devotion  to  the  cause  has 
inspired  all  those  working  with  him. 

LovERiNG  Hill 

Commander  of  Section  III  {Alsace) 
Edward  V.  Salisbury 

Commander  of  Section  II  (Lorraine) 

H.   P.    TOWXSEND 

Commander  of  Section  I  {Flanders) 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 
I 

THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  SERVICE 

APRIL  1915— APRIL  1916 

During  the  first  eight  months  of  the  war  the  Ameri- 
can Ambulance  continually  hoped  to  extend  its 
work  to  an  Ambulance  Service  definitely  connected 
with  the  armies  in  the  field,  but  not  until  April,  1915, 
were  these  hopes  definitely  realized.  The  history, 
however,  of  these  first  eight  months  is  important; 
its  mistakes  showed  the  way  to  success;  its  expecta- 
tions brought  gifts  of  cars,  induced  volunteers  to 
come  from  America,  and  laid  the  basis  upon  which 
the  present  service  is  founded. 

A  gift  of  ten  Ford  ambulances,  whose  bodies  were 
made  out  of  packing-boxes,  enabled  the  American 
Ambulance,  at  the  very  outset  of  the  war,  to  take 
part  in  the  transport  service,  and  as  more  and  more 
donations  were  made  small  squads  were  formed  in 
an  attempt  to  enlarge  the  work.  These  squads, 
each  of  five  cars,  were  offered  for  service  with  the 
armies,  but  owing  to  their  inadequate  size  were  in 
every  case  attached  by  the  Government  to  existing 
services  well  in  the  rear.  So  there  were  small  squads 
at  Saint-Pol,  Amiens,  Paris  Plage,  Abbeville,  Mer- 
ville,  and  Hesdin,  attached  to  British  or  French 

1 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Sections,  and  they  were  engaged  in  evacuating  hos- 
pitals, work  which  clearly  could  be  better  done  by 
the  larger  cars  of  Sanitary  Sections  already  attached 
to  these  hospitals. 

In  April,  1915,  through  the  efforts  of  A.  Piatt  An- 
drew, who  had  then  become  Inspector  of  the  Field 
Service,  the  French  authorities  made  a  place  for 
American  Ambulance  Sections  at  the  front  on  trial. 
A  squad  of  ten  ambulances  was  sent  to  the  Vosges, 
and  this  group  attracted  the  attention  of  their  com- 
manding officers,  who  asked  that  it  be  increased  by 
ten  cars  so  as  to  form  it  into  an  independent  Sani- 
tary Section.  As  soon  as  this  was  done,  the  unit 
took  its  place  in  conjunction  with  a  French  Section 
in  an  important  Sector  on  the  front  in  Alsace. 

With  this  initial  success  a  new  order  of  things  be- 
gan, and  in  the  same  month  a  second  Section  of 
twenty  cars  was  formed  and  was  stationed,  again  in 
conjunction  with  an  existing  French  service,  in  the 
much-bombarded  town  of  Pont-a-Mousson. 

In  the  meantime,  two  squads  of  five  cars  each 
had  been  working  at  Dunkirk.  These  were  now  re- 
enforced  by  ten  more  and  the  whole  Section  was  then 
moved  to  the  French  front  in  Belgium,  with  the  re- 
sult that  at  the  end  of  the  month  of  April,  1915,  the 
Field  Service  of  the  American  Ambulance  had  really 
come  into  existence.  It  comprised  three  Sections  of 
twenty  ambulances,  a  staff  car,  and  a  supply  car  — 
Section  Sanitaire  Americaine  N°  1,  as  it  was  called, 
stationed  at  Dunkirk;  Section  Sanitaire  Americaine 


THE  ORGANIZATION  OF  THE  SERVICE 

N°  2,  stationed  in  Lorraine;  and  Section  Sanitaire 
Americaine  N^  3,  in  the  Vosges. 

The  story  of  the  next  year  is  one  of  real  achieve- 
ment, in  which  the  three  Sections  emerged  from  the 
test  with  a  record  of  having  fulfilled  the  highest  ex- 
pectations of  proving  their  utility  to  France.  Sec- 
tion 1,  having  given  an  excellent  account  of  itself 
in  the  long-range  bombardments  and  air-raids  at 
Dunkirk,  was  rewarded  by  being  intrusted  with 
important  work  in  Belgium  at  Coxyde,  Nieuport, 
Poperinghe,  Elverdinghe,  Crombec,  and  other  postes 
de  secours  in  that  Sector  of  the  French  front. 

Section  2  had  to  win  recognition  in  a  region  al- 
ready served  by  a  French  Sanitary  Service  and  to 
which  it  was  attached  to  do  secondary  work.  The 
Section  not  only  accomplished  its  own  work,  but 
made  it  possible  for  the  French  Section  to  be  with- 
drawn, taking  over  the  pastes  de  secours  on  the  line, 
and  finally  becoming  independently  responsible  for 
an  area  renowned  for  its  continual  heavy  fighting. 

The  record  of  Section  3  is  slightly  different.  It 
first  successfully  took  over  the  existing  service,  and 
then,  pushing  on,  opened  up  to  motor  transport 
hitherto  inaccessible  mountain  pastes  de  secours. 

With  the  three  Sections  thus  established,  it  is  in- 
teresting to  note  why  they  have  been  a  recognized 
success  so  shortly  after  their  possible  usefulness  was 
appreciated. 

In  the  first  place,  an  admirable  type  of  car  was 
selected.    Our  light  Ford  ambulances,  stationed  as 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

they  were  in  Belgium,  in  Lorraine,  and  in  Alsace, 
faced  three  separate  transportation  problems.  At 
Dunkirk  they  found  the  mud  no  obstacle;  at  Pont- 
a-Mousson  they  outgeneralled  the  ravitaillement 
convoys;  in  the  Vosges  they  replaced  the  mule. 
They  were  driven,  too,  by  college  men  or  men  of  the 
college  type,  who  joined  the  service  to  be  of  use  and 
who  brought  to  the  work  youth  and  intelligence, 
initiative  and  courage.  There  have  been  to  date  in 
the  Field  Service  89  men  from  Harvard,  26  from 
Yale,  23  from  Princeton,  8  from  the  University  of 
Pennsylvania,  7  from  Dartmouth,  6  from  Columbia, 
4  from  the  University  of  Michigan,  4  from  the  Uni- 
versity of  Virginia,  18  American  Rhodes  scholars 
from  Oxford,  and  representatives  of  more  than 
thirty  other  colleges  and  universities.  Twenty-eight 
men  have  already  been  cited  and  awarded  the  croix 
de  guerre. 

In  November,  1915,  at  the  request  of  General 
Headquarters,  a  fourth  Section,  made  possible 
through  the  continued  aid  of  generous  friends  in 
America,  took  its  place  in  the  field.  In  December, 
1915,  Section  1  was  moved  to  the  Aisne.  In  Janu- 
ary, 1916,  Section  3  was  transferred  to  the  Lorraine 
front,  in  February  Section  2  was  summoned  to 
the  vicinity  of  Verdun  at  the  moment  of  the  great 
battle,  and  in  March  definite  arrangements  for  a 
fifth  Section  were  completed. 

So  April,  1916,  finds  the  three  old  Sections  still 
on  duty  at  the  front,  the  fourth  already  making  its 


THE   ORGANIZATION   OF  THE   SERVICE 

reputation  there,  and  a  fifth  being  fitted  out.  Con- 
fidence has  been  gained;  we  have  learned  our  parts. 
The  problem  of  the  future  is,  first,  to  maintain  eflS- 
ciency,  and  at  the  same  time  to  be  ready  to  put  more 
cars  and  more  men  in  the  field.  Our  vision  is  to  play 
a  larger  role  in  behalf  of  France,  and  with  the  con- 
tinued cooperation  of  the  donors  of  ambulances  and 
the  same  spirit  of  sacrifice  on  the  part  of  the  men 
in  the  field,  it  should  be  realized. 

Stephen  Galatti 
Assistant  Inspector 


II 

AT  THE  BACK  OF  THE  FRONT:  DUNKIRK  AND  YPRES 

In  June,  1915,  it  was  the  pride  of  the  Section  in 
Flanders,  Section  1,  to  feel  that  it  had  come  closer  to 
war  than  any  other  division  of  the  American  Ambu- 
lance. In  June,  1916,  the  point  of  pride  is  to  know  that 
those  first  intense  experiences  have  long  since  been 
duplicated  and  eclipsed.  The  competitive  principle 
does  not  enter,  naturally;  the  significance  is  that  in 
this  twelvemonth  the  service  of  the  Americans  has 
been  steadily  extended  and  vitalized.  And  in  at- 
tempting to  express  here  something  of  the  whole 
through  one  of  its  parts,  I  need  only  suggest  that  the 
initial  adventure  in  the  North,  comprehending  in  a 
few  Cx'owded  weeks  a  fairly  full  range  of  experience 
behind  the  lines,  perhaps  still  stands  as  typical  and 
illustrative  of  all  the  rest. 

In  Dunkirk  we  witnessed,  and  within  our  powers 
tried  to  cope  w;ith,  what  yet  remains,  I  believe,  the 
most  sensational  artillery  exploit  in  history.  It  is  re- 
membered that  the  little  cars  of  the  Americans  often 
ran  those  empty  streets,  and  pursued  those  deafening 
detonations,  alone.  Here,  at  our  base,  we  shared  the 
life  of  a  town  under  sporadic,  but  devastating,  bom- 
bardment; forward,  in  Elverdinghe,  we  shared  the 
life  of  a  town  under  perpetual,  and  also  devastating, 
bombardment;  still  further  forward,  in  Ypres,  we  be- 

6 


DUNKIRK,    MAY,    1915 


DUNKIRK  AND  YPRES 

held  a  town  bombarded  from  the  face  of  the  earth 
in  a  single  night.   We  shared  no  life  here,  nor  yet  in 
Nieuport,  for  there  was  none  to  share.  In  the  salient 
around  Ypres,  we  played  for  many  days  our  small 
part  in  that  vast  and  various  activity  forever  going  on 
at  the  back  of  the  front.    Here  we  saw  and  learned 
things  not  easily  to  be  forgotten:  the  diverse  noises 
of  shells  going  and  coming,  of  arrivees  and  departs;  the 
stupendous  uproar  of  the  "duel"  before  the  charge, 
which  makes  the  deepening  quiet  of  a  run-back  come 
like  a  balm  and  a  blessing;  the  strange  informality  of 
roadside  batteries,  booming  away  in  the  sight  of  peas- 
ant families  and  every  passer;  the  silence  and  the 
stillness,  and  the  tenseness  and  the  busyness,  of  night 
along  the  lines;  the  extreme  difficulty  of  hiding  from 
shrapnel  successfully  without  a  dugout;  the  equal 
difficulty  of  driving  successfully  down  a  shell-bitten 
road  in  darkness  like  ink;  the  glow  against  the  sky  of  a 
burning  town,  and  the  bright  steady  dots  of  starlights 
around  half  the  horizon;  the  constant  straggle  of  the 
evicted  by  the  field-ambulance's  front-door,  and  the 
fast-growing  cemetery  at  the  back-door;  the  whine 
and  patter  of  bullets  by  the  pastes  de  secours  and  the 
business-like  ripple  of  the  machine-guns;  the  whir  of 
Taubes,  the  practical  impossibility  of  hitting  them 
from  the  ground,  and  the  funny  little  bombs  some- 
times dropped  by  the  same;  the  noises  made  by  men 
gone  mad  with  pain;  the  glorious  quiet  of  men  under 
the  *acetylene  lamps  of  the  operating-table;  *' crowd 
psychology,"  and  why  a  regiment  becomes  a  "fight- 

7 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

ing  machine,"  and  how  tender  hearts  are  indurated 
with  a  toughening  of  the  skin;  the  high  prevalence  of 
courage  among  the  sons  of  men;  drawbacks  of  sleep- 
ing on  a  stretcher  in  an  ambulance;  the  unkemptness 
of  Boche  prisoners;  life,  death, and  war,  and  the  values 
and  meanings  thereof. 

Such  things,  as  I  know,  passed  into  the  experience  of 
Section  1,  in  Flanders.   And  these  things,  and  more, 
have  similarly  passed  into  the  experience  of  scores  of ' 
young  Americans  since,  in  their  life  and  service  be- 
hind the  lines  of  France. 

It  is  the  composite  experience  which  the  following 
pages  narrate;  it  is  the  composite  service  which  the 
mind  holds  to  with  most  satisfaction.  We  were 
the  Service  Sanitaire  Americaine:  a  proud  title,  and 
we  wished,  naturally,  to  invest  it  with  the  realest 
meaning.  That  in  this  year  1915-16,  the  American 
service  has  been  rendered  efficiently  and  even  valu- 
ably, this  volume  as  a  whole  attests,  I  think.  That  it 
has  been  rendered  with  the  requisite  indifference  to 
personal  risk  is  also,  I  hope,  supported  by  the  record. 
A  transient  in  the  service,  who  by  no  means  bore  the 
burden  and  heat  of  the  day,  may  be  permitted,  I 
trust,  to  say  these  necessary,  or  at  least  these  inter- 
esting and  pertinent,  things  with  complete  detach- 
ment. 

I  remember  the  hour  of  Section  I's  "baptism  of 
fire."  We  stood  in  the  lee  (or  what  we  hoped  was 
the  lee)  of  the  Petit  Chateau  at  Elverdinghe,  while 
German  shells  whistled  over  our  heads  and  burst  with 

8 


DUNKIRK  AND  YPRES 

a  wicked  crash  about  the  little  church,  the  typical 
target,  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  away.  (What  in- 
terest we  felt  when  a  fragment  of  shell,  smoking  hot, 
fell  almost  at  our  feet,  and  what  envy  of  the  man  who 
gathered  in  this  first  memorable  "souvenir"!)  We 
were  just  down  from  Dunkirk;  we  were  greener  than 
the  grass  that  blew;  and  that  the  novel  proceedings 
were  acutely  interesting  to  us  will  never  be  denied. 
Perhaps  each  of  us  secretly  wondered  to  himself  if  he 
was  going  to  be  afraid;  certainly  all  of  us  must  have 
wished,  with  some  anxiousness,  that  those  strange 
whistles  and  roars  would  turn  themselves  another 
way.  And  still,  when  the  young  Englishman  who  ran 
the  ambulance  service  there  appeared  at  that  moment 
and  asked  for  two  cars  to  go  down  the  road  to  Brielen 
(which  was  to  go  straight  toward  the  trouble) ,  it  is 
pleasant  to  remember  that  there  was  no  lack  of  vol- 
unteers, and  two  of  my  companions  were  cranking  up 
at  once.  There  was  never  any  time  later,  I  am  sure, 
when  the  sense  of  personal  danger  was  so  vivid  in  the 
minds  of  so  many  of  us  together. 

Every  ambulance-driver  must  have  his  bad  quar- 
ters of  an  hour,  no  doubt — and  some  of  the  worst  of 
them  may  concern,  not  himself  at  all,  but  his  car  or 
his  wounded.  And  if  it  is  said  that  these  young  Amer- 
icans, amateurs  and  volunteers,  have  acquitted  them- 
selves well  in  sometimes  trying  circumstances,  there 
is  no  intention  to  overemphasize  this  aspect  of  their 
service.  A  volume  might  be  written  on  the  devel- 
opmental reactions  —  all  but  mathemetical  in  their 

9 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

working  —  of  war-time.  Nor  does  it  seem  necessary 
to  add  that  the  risk  of  the  ambulanciers,  at  the  worst, 
is  small  in  comparison  with  that  of  those  whom  they 
serve,  and  from  whom  in  turn  they  get  their  inspira- 
tion —  the  intrepid  youths  in  the  trenches. 

We  came  to  know  these  youths  very  well  —  the 
gallant  and  charming  poilus  who  have  so  long  carried 
the  western  front  upon  their  shoulders.  We  sincerely 
admired  them;  and  on  them  largely  we  formed  our 
opinions  of  France,  and  of  the  war  generally,  and  of 
war. 

From  the  standpoint  of  observation,  indeed, — and 
doubtless  it  is  observation  one  should  try  to  record 
here, — I  believe  we  all  felt  the  peculiar  advantage  of 
our  position  to  have  been  this,  that  we  mingled  with 
the  soldiers  on  something  like  equal  terms.  We  were 
not  officers;  we  were  not  distinguished  visitors  dash- 
ing up  in  a  staff -car  for  an  hour  of  sight-seeing.  We 
were  rankers  (so  far  as  we  were  anything),  and  we 
were  permanent;  and  in  the  necessities  of  our  work, 
we  touched  the  life  of  the  common  fighting  man  at 
every  hour  of  the  day  and  night,  and  under  almost 
every  conceivable  circumstance.  We  were  with  the 
poilus  in  the  hour  of  rout  and  disaster;  we  were  with 
them  in  the  flush  of  a  victorious  charge  brilliantly 
executed.  We  crawled  along  roads  blocked  for  miles 
with  them,  moving  forward;  we  wormed  into  railroad 
stations  swamped  with  the  tide  of  their  wounded. 
Now  we  heard  their  boyish  fun,  and  shared  their 
jokes  in  the  fine  free  days  off  duty;  and  now  we  heard, 

10 


AN  AMERICAN   AMBULANCE   IN  FLANDERS 


DUNKIRK  AND  YPRES 

from  the  unseen  well  of  the  jolting  car,  their  faint  en- 
treaty, Doucement,  doucementi  We  saw  them  dis- 
tressed by  the  loss  of  their  precious  sacs,  or  elated  by 
the  gift  of  a  button  or  a  cheese;  we  saw  them  again,  in 
silence  and  the  darkness  beside  the  Yser,  very  quiet 
and  busy,  with  the  ping  and  whine  of  many  rifles;  and 
again  we  found  them  lying  on  straw  in  dim-lit  stables, 
bloody  and  silent,  but  not  defeated.  Now  they  gave 
us  tobacco  and  souvenirs,  and  told  us  of  their  gosses, 
and  helped  us  tinker  with  our  cars,  about  which  some 
of  them,  mechanicians  in  happier  days,  knew  so  much 
more  than  we  did;  and  now  they  died  in  our  am- 
bulances, and  sometimes  went  mad.  We  saw  them 
gay,  and  we  saw  them  gassed;  we  found  them  idhng 
or  writing  letters  on  the  running-boards  of  our  cars, 
and  we  found  the  dark  stains  of  their  fading  lives 
upon  our  stretchers;  we  passed  them  stealing  up  like 
stalwart  ghosts  to  action,  and  we  left  them  lying  in 
long  brown  rows  beside  the  old  roads  of  Flanders. 

And  to  me  at  least  it  seemed  that  the  dominant 
note  and  characteristic  quality  of  the  poilu,  and  all 
his  intense  activity,  was  just  a  disciplined  matter-of- 
factness,  a  calm,  fine,  business-like  efficiency,  an  utter 
absence  of  all  heroics.  Of  his  heroism,  it  is  superfluous 
to  speak  now.  My  observation  convinced  me,  indeed, 
that  fortitude  is  everywhere  more  common  and  evi- 
dent, not  less,  than  even  rhapsodical  writers  have  rep- 
resented. There  seems  literally  no  limit  to  the  powers 
of  endurance  of  the  human  animal,  once  he  is  put  to 
it.  Many  writers  have  written  of  the  awful  groanings 

11 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

of  the  wounded.  I  must  say  that,  though  I  have  seen 
thousands  of  wounded,  the  groans  I  have  heard 
could  almost  be  counted  upon  the  fingers  of  my  hand. 
Only  once  in  my  experience  do  I  remember  seeing  any 
signs  of  excitement  or  disorder.  That  was  in  the  roads 
around  Poperinghe,  in  the  first  threatening  hours  of 
the  second  battle  of  Ypres.  Once  only  did  I  get  any 
impression  of  human  terror.  And  that  was  only  a 
reminiscence,  left  behind  by  women  and  children  in 
the  tumbled  empty  houses  of  Ypres.  But  in  all  the 
heroism,  unlimited  and  omnipresent,  there  is  observed, 
as  I  say,  little  or  no  heroics.  That  entire  absence  of 
drum  and  fife,  which  strikes  and  arrests  all  beholders 
at  the  front,  is  significant  and  symbolic.  These  men 
muster  and  move  forward  to  the  risk  of  death  almost 
as  other  men  take  the  subway  and  go  downtown  to 
business.  There  are  no  fanfares  at  all,  no  grand  ges- 
tures, no  flourishes  about  the  soul  and  "la  gloire." 

It  is  true,  no  doubt,  that  the  ambulance-driver  views 
the  scene  from  a  somewhat  specialized  angle.  His 
principal  association  is  with  the  sequelae  of  war;  his 
view  is  too  much  the  hospital  view.  Yet,  it  must  be 
insisted,  he  becomes  quickly  and  strangely  callous  on 
these  points;  and  on  the  whole  would  be  less  likely  to 
overstress  the  mere  horrors  than  someone  who  had 
not  seen  so  much  of  them.  On  the  other  hand,  as  I 
have  suggested,  he  has  extraordinary  opportunities 
for  viewing  war  as  a  thing  at  once  of  many  parts  and 
of  a  marvellously  organized  unity. 

Personally  I  think  that  my  sharpest  impression 

12 


DUNKIRK  AND  YPRES 

of  war  as  a  whole  came  to  me,  not  along  the  posies 
de  secours  or  under  the  guns  at  all,  but  at  the  station 
place  in  the  once  obscure  little  town  of  Poperinghe, 
on  the  23d  of  April,  1915. 

That,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  a  fateful  day.  At 
five  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  before  (everybody  was 
perfectly  specific  about  the  hour),  there  had  begun 
the  great  movement  now  known  as  the  Second 
Battle  of  Ypres  (or  of  the  Yser).  The  assault  had  be- 
gun with  the  terrifying  surprise  of  poison-gas;  the 
gas  was  followed  by  artillery  attacks  of  a  ferocity 
hitherto  unequalled;  Ypres  had  been  wiped  out  in  a 
few  hours;  the  Germans  had  crossed  the  Yser.  Thus 
the  French  and  English  lines,  which  were  joined,  had 
been  abruptly  pushed  back  over  a  long  front.  That 
these  were  anxious  hours  for  the  Allies,  Sir  John 
French's  report  of  June  15  (1915)  indicates  very 
plainly,  I  think.  But  they  were  far  from  being  idle 
hours.  To-day  the  whole  back  country,  which  for 
weeks  had  swarmed  with  soldiers,  was  up.  For  miles 
around.  Allied  reserves  had  been  called  up  from  camp 
or  billet;  and  now  they  were  rushing  forward  to 
stiffen  the  wavering  lines  and  stem  the  threatening 
thrust  for  the  coast. 

At  three  o'clock  on  this  afternoon,  I  stood  in  Rue 
d'Ypres,  before  the  railway  station  in  Poperinghe, 
and  watched  the  new  army  of  England  go  up. 
Thousands  and  thousands,  foot  and  horse,  supply 
and  artillery,  gun,  caisson,  wagon  and  lorry,  the 
English  were  going  up.  All  afternoon  long,  in  an  un- 

13 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

ending  stream,  they  tramped  and  rolled  up  the  Flem- 
ish highroad,  and,  wheeling  just  before  me,  dipped  and 
disappeared  down  a  side-street  toward  "out  there." 
Beautifully  equipped  and  physically  attractive  — 
the  useless  cavalry  especially !  —  sun-tanned  and 
confident,  all  ready,  I  am  sure,  to  die  without  a 
whimper,  they  were  a  most  likely  and  impressive- 
looking  lot.  And  I  suppose  that  they  could  have 
had  little  more  idea  of  what  they  were  going  into 
than  you  and  I  have  of  the  geography  of  the  nether 
regions. 

This  was  on  my  left  —  the  English  going  up.  And 
on  my  right,  the  two  streams  actually  touching  and 
mingling,  the  English  were  coming  back.  They  did 
not  come  as  they  went,  however.  They  came  on  their 
backs,  very  still  and  remote;  and  all  that  you  were 
likely  to  see  of  them  now  was  their  muddy  boots  at 
the  ambulance  flap. 

Service  Sanitaire  as  we  were,  I  think  Section  1 
never  saw,  before  or  since,  such  a  conglomeration  of 
wounded  as  we  saw  that  day  at  Poperinghe.  Here 
was  the  rail-head  and  the  base;  here  for  the  moment 
were  the  Red  Cross  and  Royal  Army  Medical  Corps 
units  shelled  out  of  Ypres;  here  was  the  nervous 
centre  of  all  that  swarming  and  sweating  back-of-the- 
front.  And  here,  hour  after  hour,  into  and  through 
the  night,  the  slow-moving  wagons,  English,  French, 
and  American,  rolling  on  one  another's  heels,  brought 
back  the  bloody  harvest. 

The  English,  so  returning  to  Poperinghe  gare,  were 

14 


DUNKIRK  AND  YPRES 

very  well  cared  for.  By  the  station  wicket  a  large 
squad  of  English  stretcher-bearers,  directed,  I  believe 
by  a  colonel  of  the  line,  was  unceasingly  and  expertly 
busy.  Behind  the  wicket  lay  the  waiting  English 
train,  steam  up  for  Boulogne,  enormously  long  and 
perfectly  sumptuous:  a  super-train,  a  hospital  Pull- 
man, all  swinging  white  beds  and  shining  nickel.  The 
French,  alas,  were  less  lucky  that  day.  Doubtless  the 
unimagined  flood  of  wounded  had  swamped  the  gen- 
erally excellent  service;  for  the  moment,  at  least, 
there  was  not  only  no  super- train  for  the  French; 
there  was  no  train.  As  for  the  bunks  of  the  station 
warehouses,  the  hopital  d' evacuation,  they  were  of 
course  long  since  exhausted.  Thus  it  was  that 
wounded  tirailleurs  and  Zouaves  and  black  men  from 
Africa,  set  down  from  ambulances,  staggered  unat- 
tended up  the  station  platform,  sat  and  lay  anyhow 
about  the  concrete  and  the  sand  —  no  flesh- wounded 
hoppers  these,  but  hard-punished  men,  not  a  few  of 
them  struck,  it  was  only  too  manifest,  in  the  seat  of 
their  lives.  This  was  a  bloody  disarray  which  I  never 
saw  elsewhere,  and  hope  never  to  see  again.  Here,  in- 
deed, there  was  moaning  to  be  heard,  with  the  hard 
gasp  and  hopeless  coughing  of  the  asphyxies.  And 
still,  behind  this  heavy  ambulance,  rolled  another; 
and  another  and  another  and  another. 

On  my  left  was  the  cannon  fodder  going  up;  on  my 
right  was  the  cannon  fodder  coming  back.  The  whole 
mechanics  of  war  at  a  stroke,  you  might  have  said: 
these  two  streams  being  really  one,  these  men  the 

15 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

same  men,  only  at  slightly  different  stages  of  their 
experience.  But  there  was  still  another  detail  in  the 
picture  we  saw  that  day,  more  human  than  the  or- 
ganized machine,  perhaps,  and  it  seemed  even  more 
pathetic. 

Behind  me  as  I  stood  and  watched  the  mingling 
streams  of  soldiers,  the  little  square  was  black  with 
refugies.  Farther  back,  in  the  station  yard,  a  second 
long  train  stood  steaming  beside  the  hospital  train,  a 
train  for  the  homeless  and  the  waifs  of  war.  And 
presently  the  gate  opened,  and  these  crowds,  old  men 
and  women  and  children,  pushed  through  to  embark 
on  their  unknown  voyage. 

These  were  persons  who  but  yesterday  possessed  a 
local  habitation  and  a  name,  a  background,  old  ties 
and  associations,  community  organization,  a  life. 
Abruptly  severed  from  all  this,  violently  hacked  off 
at  the  roots,  they  were  to-day  floating  units  in  a  name- 
less class,  droves  of  a  ticket  and  number,  refugies.  I 
walked  up  the  platform  beside  their  crowded  train. 
A  little  group  still  lingered  outside :  a  boy,  a  weazened 
old  man,  and  three  or  four  black-clad  women,  simple 
peasants,  with  their  household  goods  in  a  tablecloth 
—  waiting  there,  it  may  be,  for  the  sight  of  a  familiar 
face,  missed  since  last  night.  I  asked  the  women 
where  they  came  from.  They  said  from  Boesinghe, 
which  the  Germans  had  all  but  entered  the  night  be- 
fore. Their  homes,  then,  were  in  Boesinghe?  Oh,  no; 
their  homes,  their  real  homes,  were  in  a  little  village 
some  twenty  kilometres  back.    And  then  they  fixed 

16 


m 


DUNKIRK  AND  YPRES 

themselves  permanently  in  my  memory  by  saying, 
quite  simply,  that  they  had  been  driven  from  their 
homes  by  the  coming  of  the  Germans  in  October 
(1914);  and  they  had  then  come  to  settle  with  rela- 
tives in  Boesinghe,  which  had  seemed  safe  —  until 
last  night.  Twice  expelled  and  severed  at  the  roots: 
where  were  they  going  now?  I  asked  the  question; 
and  one  of  the  women  made  a  little  gesture  with 
her  arms,  and  answered,  stoically:  "To  France"  — 
which  was,  as  I  consider,  the  brave  way  of  saying, 
God  knows.  As  the  case  seemed  sad  to  me,  I  tried  to 
say  something  to  that  effect;  and,  getting  no  answer 
to  my  commonplaces,  I  glanced  up,  and  all  the  wo- 
men's eyes  had  suddenly  filled  with  tears. 

And  outside  the  English  were  still  going  up  with  a 
fine  tramp  and  rumble,  nice  young  clerks  from  Man- 
chester and  green-grocers'  assistants  from  Totten- 
ham Court  Road. 

I  have  never  forgotten  that  the  very  last  soldier  I 
carried  in  my  ambulance  (on  June  23,  1915)  was  one 
whose  throat  had  been  quietly  cut  while  he  slept  by  a 
flying  sliver  of  a  shell  thrown  from  a  gun  twenty-two 
miles  away.  But  it  will  not  do,  I  am  aware,  to  over- 
emphasize the  purely  mechanical  side  of  modern  war, 
the  deadly  impersonality  which  often  seems  to  char- 
acterize it,  the  terrible  meaninglessness  of  its  deaths 
at  times.  Ours,  as  I  have  said,  was  too  much  the 
hospital  view.  That  the  personal  equation  survives 
everywhere,  and  the  personal  dedication,  it  is  quite 

17 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

superfluous  to  say.  Individual  exaltation,  fear  and 
the  victory  over  fear,  conscious  consecration  to  an 
idea  and  ideal,  all  the  subtle  promptings  and  stark 
behavior  by  which  the  common  man  chooses  and 
avows  that  there  are  ways  of  dying  which  transcend 
all  life:  this,  we  know,  must  have  been  the  experience 
of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  the  young  soldiers  of 
France.  And  all  this,  beyond  doubt,  will  one  day  be 
duly  recorded,  in  tales  to  stir  the  blood  and  set  the 
heart  afire. 

And  the  fine  flourish  is  not  altogether  wanting  even 
now.  As  some  offset  to  the  impression  of  pure  blood 
and  tears,  let  me  quote  a  document  showing  that  the 
courage  of  France  still  sometimes  displays  itself  with 
the  dash  of  purple.  Before  me  is  a  copy  of  the  offi- 
cial proclamation  of  the  Mayor  of  Dunkirk,  posted 
through  the  town  after  the  stunning  surprise  of  the 
first  bombardments.  It  runs  as  follows :  — 


DUNKERQUOIS 

Les  Bomhardements  que  nous  venons  de  suhir  out  fait  sur- 
tout  des  victimes  dans  les  rues. 

Je  recommande  essentiellement  aux  habitants  de 
s*abriter  dans  les  caves  voutees  et  de  ne  pas  se  fier  meme  a 
des  ecarts  de  tir  assez  longs  pour  sortir. 

Dunkerquois,  nous  avons  a  supporter  les  risques  de  la 
guerre,  nous  les  supportons  vaillamment. 

Notre  ville  pent  avoir  a  payer  son  tribut  au  vandalisme 
de  nos  ennemis  comme  d'autres  villes,  nous  garderons  haut 

LES  CGEURS. 

Les  mines  seules  seroni  allemandes,  la  terre  restera  fran- 

18 


DUNKIRK  AND  YPRES 

qaiseei  aprh la yicroiREy nous  nous  retrouverons plvsyobts, 

PLUS  RESOLUS  ET  PLUS  FIERS  QUE  JAMAIS. 

VIVE  DUNKERQUE  TOU JOURS  ET  VIVE  LA  FRANCE.^ 

And  the  best  part  of  this  ringing  manifesto,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  is  that  it  is  all  quite  true.  Dunkirk  will 
live  long,  and  so  will  France;  and  after  the  victory 
the  citizens  will  find  themselves,  we  cannot  doubt, 
prouder  and  more  resolute  than  ever. 

In  the  immense  burden  which  France  is  bearing, 
the  sum  of  the  service  of  the  young  Americans  has 
been,  of  course,  quite  infinitesimal.  As  the  most 
generous  and  sympathetic  persons  are  always  quick- 
est to  appreciate  the  intentions  of  sympathy  from 
others,  it  is  pleasant  to  know  that  the  French,  char- 
acteristically, have  not  been  unmindful  of  even  this 
slight  thing.  But,  it  is  truly  said  elsewhere,  the  real 
gainers  from  this  relationship  have  been  the  Ameri- 
cans. Not  only  is  this  true;  it  seems  to  me  there  can 
be  no  surprise  in  it.  There  can  be  hardly  any  of  these 

^  [Tbanslation] 
People  op  Dunkirk: 

The  bombardments  to  which  we  have  been  subjected  have  caused  many 
casualties  in  the  streets. 

I  most  emphatically  urge  all  persons  to  seek  shelter  in  vaulted  cellars, 
and  not  to  trust  even  to  intervals  in  the  firing  long  enough  to  go  out. 

People  of  Dunkirk,  we  have  to  put  up  with  the  hazards  of  war,  and  we 
are  doing  so  courageously. 

Our  city  may  have  to  pay  its  tribute  to  the  vandalism  of  our  foes,  like 
other  cities;  we  will  keep  our  hearts  serene  and  high. 

The  ruins  alone  will  be  German,  the  soil  will  remain  French,  and  after 
the  Victory,  we  shall  meet  again,  stronger,  more  determined,  and  prouder 
than  ever. 

Vive  Dunkirk  forever,  and  Vive  la  France! 

19 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

men  who  did  not  set  out  from  home,  however  uncon- 
sciously, for  his  own  good  gain;  hardly  one  who  did 
not  feel  that  if  he  could  but  touch  this  memorable 
making  of  history  with  however  small  a  hand,  if  he 
could  but  serve  in  the  littlest  this  so  memorable  cause, 
he  would  have  a  possession  to  go  with  him  all  his  days. 
Quorum  parva  pars  fuerunt;  and  —  from  the  little 
Latin  all  schoolboys  remember —  hoBC  olim  meminisse 
juvabiL  This  is  theirs;  and  it  is  enough.  But  should 
any  of  them  covet  another  reward  than  what  they 
carry  within  themselves,  I  think  they  have  it  if  this 
log-book  of  their  Service  seems  to  show  that  within 
their  powers  they  have  deserved  the  fine  name  here 
bestowed  upon  them,  the  Friends  of  France. 

'Henry  Sydnor  Harrison 


Cr:^ 


^*^^^!XMv- 


Ca.^.'U-^  <v^  ^ -» 


Ill 

THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

"Mon  corps  k  la  terre, 
Mon  &me  k  Dieu, 
Mon  coeur  &  la  France." 

The  trenches  in  this  part  of  the  Vosges  are  cut  along 
the  brows  of  heights  which  directly  overlook  the 
Rhine  Valley.  From  these  summits  can  be  seen,  be- 
yond the  smoke  which  deepens  the  mist  above  the 
famous  cities  of  Mulhouse  and  Colmar,  the  shadowy 
boundary  of  the  Black  Forest  and  the  snow-topped 
mountains  of  Switzerland.  A  few  yards  behind  the 
mouths  of  the  communication  trenches  are  the  first 
dressing-stations,  everywhere  and  always  one  of 
war's  most  ghastly  spots.  Paths  make  their  way  from 
these  dressing-stations  down  the  mountain-sides  un- 
til they  become  roads,  and,  once  they  have  become 
roads,  our  work  begins. 

Nowhere  else  are  foreign  soldiers  upon  German 
soil.  Nowhere  else,  from  Ypres  to  Belfort,  do  the 
lines  face  each  other  in  a  mountain  range  of  com- 
manding summits  and  ever-visible  village-dotted 
valleys.  Nowhere  else  can  one  study  in  history's 
most  famous  borderland  both  war  and  one  of  those 
problems  in  nationality  which  bring  about  wars. 
And  surely  nowhere  else  are  Detroit-manufactured 
automobiles  competing  with  Missouri-raised  mules 

21 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

in  the  business  of  carrying  wounded  men  over  dizzy 
roads. 

Until  our  light,  cheap  cars  were  risked  on  these 
roads  a  wounded  man  faced  a  ten-mile  journey  with 
his  stretcher  strapped  to  the  back  of  a  mule  or  put 
on  the  floor  of  a  hard,  springless  wagon.  Now  he  is 
carried  by  hand  or  in  'wheelbarrows  from  one  half 
to  two  miles.  Then  in  one  of  our  cars  there  is  a  long 
climb  followed  by  a  long  descent.  And  over  such 
roads!  Roads  blocked  by  artillery  convoys  and 
swarming  with  mules,  staggering  likely  as  not  be- 
neath a  load  of  high-explosive  shells  I  Roads  so  nar- 
row that  two  vehicles  cannot  pass  each  other  when 
both  are  in  motion!  Roads  with  a  steep  bank  on 
the  one  side  and  a  sheer  drop  on  the  other!  Roads 
where  lights  would  draw  German  shells!  Roads  even 
where  horns  must  not  be  blown! 

Indeed,  these  roads  seem  to  stand  for  our  whole 
work.  But  they  do  not  by  any  means  represent  our 
whole  work,  and  it  is  necessary,  if  one  wants  to  con- 
vey a  comprehensive  idea  of  our  life,  to  begin  at  our 
base.  This  is  a  village  twenty-five  miles  to  the  rear, 
but  strategically  located  in  relation  to  the  various 
dressing-stations,  sorting-points,  base  hospitals,  and 
railheads  which  we  serve,  and,  in  this  war  of  ship- 
ping-clerks and  petrol,  one  of  those  villages  which 
is  as  much  a  part  of  the  front  as  even  the  trenches 
themselves.  It  is  a  "little,  one-eyed,  blinking  sort 
of  place."  It  is  not  as  near  to  the  fighting  as  some 
of  us,  particularly  adventurous  humanitarians  fresh 

22 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

from  New  York  and  Paris,  desire.  But,  pictur- 
esquely placed  on  the  banks  of  the  Moselle  and  smil- 
ing up  at  the  patches  of  hollow-streaked  snow  that, 
even  in  late  July  and  August,  stand  out  on  the  tops 
of  the  Ballon  d 'Alsace  and  the  Ballon  de  Servance, 
it  is  a  lovely,  long-to-be-remembered  spot  and  every 
one  in  the  Section  quite  naturally  speaks  of  it  as 
"home." 

We  are  billeted  in  some  twenty-five  households 
as  if  we  were  officers,  although  our  rations  are  the 
rations  of  a  common^soldier  and  our  Section  rules  are 
unfailingly  to  salute  officers  and  even  to  make  our- 
selves scarce  in  hotels  and  cafes  frequented  only  by 
officers.  Our  lodgings  range  from  hay-lofts  to  elec- 
trically lighted  rooms;  but  the  character  of  our  wel- 
come is  always  the  same  —  pleasant,  cordial,  to  be 
counted  upon — "You  are  doing  something  for  France 
and  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you." 

One  of  the  fellows,  for  instance,  is  quartered  over 
a  cafe.  It  is  a  little  place,  dirty  and  unattractive. 
Before  the  war  an  American  tourist  dropping  into 
this  cafe  would  probably  have  been  sold  a  bad  grade 
of  vin  ordinaire  and  been  charged  too  much  for  it. 
But  the  other  day  the  chap  who  is  billeted  there  was 
a  little  under  the  weather  and  I  took  his  breakfast 
to  him  in  his  room.  I  foxmd  the  cafe  full  of  customers 
who  had  not  been  served.  The  woman  of  the  house 
was  upstairs  giving  her  amhulaneier  americain  a  cup 
of  that  great  Vosges  remedy,  linden  tea.  I  inquired 
about  lunch.   But  it  was  no  use,  there  was  nothing 

23 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

for  me  to  do.  She  was  going  to  fix  him  some  Imich 
if  he  felt  like  eating  it,  and  his  dinner,  too.  Was  not 
her  husband  away  fighting  and  had  *not  her  eldest 
son  been  marked  down  as  missing  ever  since  his 
company  took  a  German  trench  last  June? 

Perhaps  it  is  not  surprising  that  we  should  be  so 
received  in  a  town  where  we  have  been  living  now 
for  six  months,  where  we  are  the  best  patrons  of  the 
biggest  hotel,  the  most  valued  customers  of  half  the 
shops.  But  this  hospitable  reception  is  by  no  means 
confined  to  our  base.  Everywhere  we  meet  with  a 
courtesy  and  with  a  gratitude  which  bring  with  them 
a  very  satisfactory  sense  of  doing  something  worth 
while  and  having  it  appreciated. 

Imagine,  for  instance,  a  small  town  surrounded 
by  mountains  that,  sloping  gently  up  from  its  main 
street  and  railway  station,  are  checkered  for  some 
distance  with  houses,  green  fields,  and  straggly  stone 
walls,  while  hidden  in  their  tree-covered  summits 
are  trenches  and  batteries  of  75's,  and  here  and  there 
hotels  where  before  the  war  tourists  stopped  and  to 
which  now  the  wounded  are  carried.  But  on  this 
day  a  thick  gray  mist  hangs  over  the  town  like  a 
half -lowered  curtain.  The  guns  rest  because  the  gun- 
nea-s  cannot  see.  The  mist  hides  entirely  the  tops  of 
the  mountains,  gives  the  generally  visible  houses 
and  stone  walls  a  dim,  unshaped  appearance,  and 
makes  hardly  noticeable  a  procession  of  gray  motor 
ambulances  coming  out  from  the  tree-line  and  mak- 
ing their  way  down  into  the  town. 

24 


SUPPLIES  FOR  THE   SOLDIEPvS  BEING  CARRIED  ON  MULES 
OYER  THE  VOSGES  MTS. 


AT  A  VALLEY   "  POSTE  "   (MITTLACH) 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

Around  the  railway  station  is  a  group  of  tem- 
porary tents,  where  the  wounded  are  given  by  the 
ladies  of  the  Croix  Rouge  a  cup  of  coffee  or  a  glass  of 
citron  and  water  before  being  packed  into  the  train 
sanitaire  to  begin  their  long  journey  to  the  centre 
or  south  of  France.  The  ambulances  evacuating  the 
hospitals  draw  up  among  these  tents  under  the  or- 
ders of  the  sergeant  in  charge.  Four  or  five  French 
ambulances  arrive  and  are  unloaded.  Then  a  smaller 
car  takes  its  place  in  the  line.  It  has  a  long,  low, 
gray  body  with  two  big  red  crosses  painted  on  either 
side.  Beneath  the  red  crosses  are  the  words  "Ameri- 
can Ambulance,"  and  a  name-plate  nailed  to  the 
front  seat  bears  the  words  "Wellesley  College." 

The  driver,  after  clearly  doing  his  best  to  make  a 
smooth  stop,  gets  down  and  helps  in  lifting  out  the 
stretchers.  One  of  the  wounded,  as  his  stretcher  is 
slid  along  the  floor  of  the  car  and  lowered  to  the 
ground,  groans  pitifully.  He  had  groaned  this  way 
and  sometimes  even  screamed  at  the  rough  places 
on  the  road.  So  the  driver's  conscience  hurt  him 
as  he  pulled  some  tacks  out  of  his  tires  and  waited 
for  the  sergeant's  signal  to  start.  It  was  his  first 
day's  work  as  an  amhulancier.  He  could  still  see 
every  rock  and  every  rut  in  the  last  mile  of  the  road 
he  had  just  driven  over  and  he  wondered  if  he  really 
had  been  as  careful  as  possible. 

But  he  was  saved  from  reproaching  himself  very 
long.  An  infirmier  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and, 
telling  him  that  a  hlesse  wished  to  speak  to  him,  led 

25 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

him  to  one  of  the  tents.  It  was  the  man  about  whom 
he  had  been  unhappy,  now  more  comfortable,  al- 
though evidently  still  suffering. 

"You  are  very  kind,  sir,"  he  said  in  English  that 
might  have  been  in  other  circumstances  quite  good, 
and  disclosing  a  lieutenant's  galons  as  he  gave  his 
right  hand  to  the  driver.  "You  drive  carefully.  I 
know,  for  I  have  a  car.  I  don't  like  to  cry  —  but  I 
have  two  broken  legs  —  anything  hurts  me  —  but 
it  is  really  decent  of  you  fellows  to  come  way  over 
here  —  it  really  is  trop  gentil  .  .  ."  And  the  driver 
went  back  to  his  car  marvelling  for  the  first  of  many 
times  at  the  sense  of  sympathy  which  had  made  that 
pain-stricken  oflScer  think  of  him  at  all. 

One  wet  night  not  long  ago,  the  writer  was  stopped 
en  route  by  a  single  middle-aged  soldier  trudging  his 
way  along  a  steep  road  running  from  a  cantonment 
behind  the  lines  to  the  trenches.  Embarrassed  a 
little  at  first  and  pulling  at  his  cap,  this  man  said 
that  he  had  heard  in  the  trenches  of  the  American 
Ambulance;  that  a  friend  had  written  back  that  he 
had  been  carried  in  one  of  them;  that  this  was  the 
first  time  that  he  had  had  an  opportunity  of  shaking 
hands  with  one  of  the  volontaires  americains.  Then, 
as  I  leaned  over  to  say  good-bye,  he  shook  both  my 
hands,  offered  me  a  cigarette,  shook  both  my  hands 
again,  saying,  "wn^  jolie  voiturey^  and,  pointing 
towards  where  in  the  black  distance  came  the  rum- 
ble of  guns,  "Perhaps  you  will  bring  me  back  to- 


morrow." 


26 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

If  that  man,  by  the  way,  had  asked  me  for  a  lift, 
as  is  usually  the  case  when  you  are  stopped  like  that 
on  the  road,  my  orders  would  have  been  to  have  re- 
fused him,  to  have  said,  ''C'est  defendu,''  and  to 
have  driven  on.  The  Hague  Conventions  forbid 
carrying  any  soldiers  in  ambulances  except  those 
who  are  wounded  and  those  in  the  service  sanitaire. 
It  is,  putting  it  mildly,  unpleasant  to  have  to  refuse 
a  man  a  ride  when  he  is  wearily  facing  a  long  walk 
and  you  are  spinning  by  in  an  empty  ambulance.  It 
is  doubly  unpleasant  when  you  feel  that  this  man 
would  do  anything  for  you  from  pushing  your  car 
out  of  a  ditch  to  sharing  a  canteen.  And  yet,  when- 
ever we  have  to  perform  this  disagreeable  duty, 
the  conversation  usually  ends  with  a  ^'Merci  quand 
meme." 

Indeed,  discipline  in  a  French  soldier  seems  to  be 
able  to  maintain  itself  remarkably  from  within. 
Officers  and  men  mingle  probably  more  unrestrain- 
edly than  in  any  army  in  the  world.  A  soldier  when 
talking  to  an  officer  does  not  stand  at  attention  after 
the  first  salute.  Privates  and  officers  are  frequently 
seen  in  the  same  room  of  a  hotel  or  cafe,  and  some- 
times even  have  their  meals  in  messes  that  are 
scarcely  separated  at  all.  But  these  encroachments 
upon  military  formalism  seem  to  go  no  deeper  than 
the  frills  of  efficiency.  Orders  are  obeyed  without 
"reasoning  why,"  and,  as  in  all  conscript  armies, 
the  machinery  of  punishment* is  evolved  to  uphold 
authority  at  all  cost.  Officers  have  wide  and  imme- 

27 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

diate  powers  of  punishment,  and  the  decisions  of 
courts  martial  judging  the  graver  offences  are  swift, 
severe,  and  highly  dreaded. 

But,  returning  for  the  moment  to  Saint-Maurice, 
we  park  our  cars  in  the  public  square,  on  a  hillside, 
along  the  fence  of  the  cure's  yard  and  against  the 
walls  of  an  old  church,  where  their  bright  red  crosses 
flame  out  against  the  gray  flaking  stone,  and,  on  a 
cold  morning,  it  is  always  possible  to  save  a  lot  of 
cranking  by  pushing  them  down  the  hill.  About  half 
the  Section  on  any  given  day  are  to  be  found  at  the 
base  and  "in  bounds,"  which  means  the  square,  the 
hotel  where  we  have  our  mess,  or  the  room  where  one 
is  billeted.  These  men  compose  the  reserve  list,  and 
are  liable  to  be  called  at  any  minute  when  they  must 
"roll,"  as  we  say,  instantly.  The  rest  of  the  Section 
are  on  duty  in  detachments  of  from  one  to  eight 
cars  and  for  periods  of  from  twenty-four  hours  to 
a  week  at  various  dressing-stations,  sorting-points, 
field  hospitals,  and  so  forth.  The  men  on  reserve  are 
used  to  reinforce  these  places,  to  fill  up  quickly 
trains  saniiaires,  to  rush  to  any  one  of  a  half-dozen 
villages  which  are  sometimes  shelled. 

Often,  when  the  fighting  is  heavy,  not  a  man  or  a 
car  of  Section  3  is  to  be  found  at  Saint-Maurice. 
The  repair  car  even  will  be  driven  to  some  crossroads 
or  sorting-point  where  our  ambulances  bring  the 
wounded  from  several  dressing-stations.  And  Mr. 
Hill  will  be  away  in  the  staff  car  dropping  in  upon 
the  widely  separated  places  where  his  men  are  work- 

28 


,  THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

ing  to  see  that  all  is  going  well  or  to  know  the  reason 
why. 

Mr.  Lovering  Hill,  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  was 
practising  law  in  New  York  City.  He  had  been  edu- 
cated at  Harvard  and  in  Switzerland,  and,  speaking 
French  as  well  as  English,  and  thoroughly  under- 
standing the  French  temperament  and  people,  he 
immediately  enlisted  with  the  American  Ambulance 
of  Neuilly  as  a  driver.  In  six  months  he  was  pro- 
moted to  the  rank  of  squad  leader,  and,  since  last 
July,  ranking  as  a  first  lieutenant  in  the  French  army, 
he  has  been  in  charge  of  the  work  of  Section  Sani- 
taire  N^  3,  succeeding  Mr.  Richard  Lawrence,  of 
Boston,  who  had  been  compelled  to  return  to  the 
United  States.  Mr.  Hill  believes  in  never  letting  the 
reins  of  discipline  drag,  and  yet  he  gets  along  fa- 
mously with  all  except  those  who  have  a  habit  of 
recalling  in  some  way  that  they  are  volunteers. 

A  French  lieutenant  and  an  official  interpreter 
are  also  attached  to  the  Section.  We  are  partly  under 
the  control  of  the  Sanitary  Service  and  partly  of  the 
Automobile  Service.  The  French  personnel  are  a 
link  between  the  Automobile  Service  and  our  unit, 
and  they  are  busy  from  morning  until  night  keeping 
abreast  of  the  required  reports,  for  five-day  reports 
must  be  made  on  the  consumption  of  gasoline,  the 
number  of  miles  run,  the  number  of  wounded  car- 
ried, the  oil,  carbide,  and  spare  parts  needed,  the 
rations  drawn,  and,  in  great  detail,  any  change  in 
"personnel. 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

There  are  no  orderlies-  or  mechanics  attached  to 
our  Section  and  each  driver  is  responsible  for  the 
upkeep  and  repair  of  his  own  car.  We  do  as  much 
of  this  work  as  possible  in  the  square  where  we  park 
our  cars.  So  we  patch  tires,  scrape  carbon,  and 
change  springs  while  the  church  bell  rings  persist- 
ently and  mournfully  for  masses  and  funerals  and 
while  the  people 'who  sit  and- watch  us  from  their 
shop  windows  laugh  at  our  language  as  much  as  if 
they  understood  it. 

In  general  charge  of  this  work  and  of  a  blacksmith 
shop  that  we  have  turned  into  a  workroom  is  a  so- 
called  Mechanical  Department  composed  of  the  two 
drivers  who  know  the  most  about  automobiles.  And 
so  successfully  has  the  system  worked  out  that,  lay- 
men though  most  of  us  be,  none  of  our  "  Chinese  Rolls 
Royces"  or  "Mechanical  Fleas"  —  as  an  English 
Red  Cross  corps  in  the  neighborhood  has  nicknamed 
our  Fords  —  has  been  so  severely  "punished"  that 
its  repair  has  been  beyond  the  power  of  its  driver  in- 
structed and  assisted  by  the  Mechanical  Department. 

We  receive  the  one  sou  a  day,  which,  in  addition 
to  allowances  to  wife,  if  any,  and  to  children,  if  any, 
is  the  wage  of  a  French  poilu.  We  draw,  as  has  al- 
ready been  mentioned,  an  ordinary  soldier's  rations : 
plenty  of  nourishing  but  rather  solid  bread,  which, 
with  the  date  of  its  baking  stamped  upon  it,  comes 
in  big  round  loaves  that  we  hold  against  our  chest 
and  cut  with  our  pocket  knife  in  true  poilu  fashion; 
rice  or  potatoes,  generally  rice;  coffee,  sugar,  salt,  and 

30 


A  "POSTE  DE   SECOURS"   IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  FECHT 


SHARING   MEALS   AT  A   POSTE 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

sometimes  fresh  meat,  but  ordinarily  canned  beef, 
called  by  the  French  private  singe,  or  monkey  meat. 
At  our  own  request  we  get  the  cash  equivalent  of  our 
wine  and  tobacco  allowances,  and  this  is  used  to  help 
defray  the  expenses  of  having  our  food  cooked  and 
served  in  the  best  hotel  the  town  offers.  But  with 
these  exceptions  —  French  tobacco  especially  may 
be  put  in  the  category  of  acquired  tastes  —  we  take 
and  eat  everything  that  is  given  to  us  with  a  very 
good  grace.  And  although  it  is  possible,  especially 
at  Saint-Maurice,  to  add  variously  and  cheaply  to 
this  diet  at  one's  own  expense,  it  probably  is  a  fact 
that  those  of  the  Section  who, in  a  spirit  of  "playing 
the  game"  all  the  way  through, have  stuck  to  the 
rations  weigh  more  and  feel  better  than  when  they 
first  took  the  field,  in  spite  of  the  constant  drenchings 
one  gets  and  the  stretches  of  work  without  sleep. 

The  hours  of  our  meals  —  served  by  the  untiring, 
red-cheeked  Fanny  —  are  a  little  more  American 
than  military  for  those  taking  their  turn  on  the  re- 
serve list  "at  home."  But  Mr.  Hill's  rule  requires 
military  punctuality  on  penalty  of  washing  the  dirti- 
est car  in  the  square.  This  is  also  the  punishment 
inflicted  upon  any  one  who  does  not  get  his  car 
properly  ready  for  morning  inspection,  who  is  not 
in  his  room  by  nine  o'clock,  who  has  any  trouble  on 
the  road  from  an  insufficient  supply  of  "gas"  or  oil, 
who  is  tardy  in  handing  in  reports,  or  breaks  in  any 
way  the  rules  from  time  to  time  posted  in  the  mess- 
room. 

31 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

"In  a  word,  you  are  military  and  not  military, 
but  I  am  going  to  pay  you  the  greatest  compliment 
in  my  power,  by  treating  you  as  I  would  any  French 
soldiers  under  my  command,"  the  Commandant  in 
charge  of  the  Automobile  Service  of  the  army  to 
which  we  are  attached  said  to  us  on  one  occasion. 
And  it  has  been  the  clear  purpose  of  our  two  chiefs 
—  first  Mr.  Lawrence  and  now  Mr.  Hill  —  to  live 
up  to  the  responsibilities  of  that  compliment.  This 
is  mainly  done  by  example  and  through  the  force  of 
a  very  real  esprit  de  corps,  but  washing  another  man's 
car  has  been  found  a  useful  daily  help  for  daily  dis- 
ciplinary needs. 

Away  from  our  base,  in  our  nomadic  dressing- 
station-to-hospital  existence,  we  are  often  pretty 
much  "on  our  own."  This  part  of  our  life  begins  in 
a  valley  reached  through  a  famous  pass.  Starting 
from  the  valley  of  the  Moselle  easy  grades  along  a 
splendid  highway  crowded  with  trucks,  staff  cars, 
wine  carts,  and  long  lines  of  yellow  hay  wagons, 
bring  one  to  a  tunnel  about  three  hundred  yards  in 
length.  In  the  middle  of  this  tunnel  is  a  low  white 
marble  stone  with  a  rounded  top  that  until  a  year 
ago  last  August  marked  the  boundary  between 
France  and  Germany.  To  an  American  driving  an 
automobile  in  the  dim  tunnel  light  this  stone  is  sim- 
ply something  not  to  be  hit.  To  the  French  who 
have  fought  so  bravely  that  it  may  no  longer  stand 
for  a  boundary  it  is  a  sacred  symbol.  I  have  seen  the 

32 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 


eyes  of  returning  wounded  glisten  at  the  sight  of  it. 
I  have  heard  companies  of  chasseurs,  as  they  passed 
it  going  to  the  trenches,  break  into  singing  or  whis- 
thng  their  famous  Sidi-Brahim  march. 

Beyond  this  tunnel  the  road,  wrapping  itself 
around  the  mountain  like  a  broad,  shining  ribbon, 
descends  into  a  fertile  commercial  valley  in  sweep- 
ing curves  sometimes  a  kilometre  long:  on  one  side 
are  high  gray  rocks  where  reservists  seem  to  hang 
by  their  teeth  and  break  stones;  on  the  other,  a  sheer 
drop  into  green  fields,  behind  the  tunnel-pierced 
summit,  in  front  the  red-roofed  houses  of  several 
Alsatian  villages  nestling  against  yet  another  line  of 
mountain-tops.  And  along  this  road  we  have  made 
our  way  at  midnight,  at  daybreak,  in  the  late  after- 
noon, running  cautiously  with  wounded  and  run- 
ning carelessly  empty.  We  are  at  home,  too,  in  the 
villages  to  which  it  leads,  with  the  life-size  portrayals 
of  the  Crucifixion  that  are  everywhere,  even  in  fields 
and  nailed  to  trees  in  the  mountains,  with  the  gray 
stone  churches  and  their  curious  onion-shaped  towers 
and  clamorous  bells. 

The  appearance  of  an  American  Ambulance  in  the 
villages  is  no  longer  a  novelty,  sentries  let  us  pass 
without  a  challenge,  school  children  do  not  any 
more  rush  over  to  us  at  recess  time,  or  soldiers  crowd 
around  us  and  say  to  one  another,  "  Voild  la  voiture 
americaine.*'  And  we  have  friends  everywhere:  the 
oflScer  who  wants  to  speak  English  and  invites  us 
so  often  to  lunch  with  him,  the  corporal  of  engineers 

33 


Av 


ik^^' 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

who  was  a  well-known  professor,  the  receiving  ser- 
geant who  was  a  waiter  at  the  Savoy  Hotel  in  Lon- 
don, the  infirmier  who  was  in  charge  of  the  French 
department  of  one  of  the  largest  of  New  York's  pub- 
lishing houses. 

I  But  cooks  are  the  people  we  cultivate  the  most 
assiduously.  It  is  forbidden  to  leave  your  car  and 
eat  in  a  cafe.  Besides,  the  time  of  day  when  we  are 
hungriest  is  the  time  —  maybe  midnight  or  early 
morning  —  when  no  cafes  are  open  or  when  we  are 
marooned  on  some  mountain-top.  For  single  cars 
and  small  wandering  detachments  there  are  only 
informal  arrangements  for  "touching"  rations.  So 
we  depend  upon  the  good-will  of  the  chief  cooks  and 
we  seldom  go  hungry.  But  the  stanchest  sustainer 
of  every  American  Ambulance  driver  presides  over 
the  kitchen  of  the  largest  sorting-point  in  the  valley. 
We  call  this  cheery-voiced,  big-hearted  son  of  the 
Savoy  mountains,  who  before  the  war  washed  auto- 
mobiles in  Montmartre,  "Le  Capitaine,"  "Joe  Caw- 
thorne,"  "Gunga  Din."  He  is  never  tired  or  out  of 
spirits.  He  never  needs  to  sleep.  It  will  be  a  rush 
period.  We  will  leave  our  ambulances  only  to  get 
gasoline,  oil,  and  water  while  the  wounded  are  being 
discharged.  "Le  Capitaine,"  too,  will  be  up  to  his 
neck  in  work,  cooking  a  meal  for  a  hundred  people, 
hurrying  out  at  the  midecin  chefs  order,  soup  for 
thirty  and  tea  for  twenty  more  —  and  still  he  will 
find  time  to  run  out  to  our  cars  with  a  cup  of  coffee 
and  a  slice  of  cheese.   The  only  occasion  on  record 

34 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

of  anything  from  "Joe  Cawthorne"  but  a  word  and 
a  smile  of  cheer  was  once  when  one  of  the  fellows, 
who  felt  that  to  his  coffee  he  owed  his  escapes  from 
sleeping  at  the  wheel  and  running  off  the  bank,  and 
therefore  his  life,  returned  to  America,  first  giving 
"Le  Capitaine  "  an  envelope  with  some  money  in  it. 
**  Jamais,  jamais,"  he  said,  returning  the  envelope 
and  viciously  picking  some  flies  out  of  his  cqffe  chau- 
dron. 

There  is  no  place  like  the  front  for  the  Long  Arm 
of  Coincidence  to  play  pranks.  I  have  known  two 
university  football  stars  to  meet  for  the  first  time 
since  their  gridiron  days  on  a  shelled  curve  of  a  nar- 
row road  —  each  in  charge  of  an  ambulance  and  each 
down  in  the  road  driving  some  wandering  cows  out 
of  their  way.  I  have  known  the  young  men  to  cele- 
brate the  Fourth  of  July  on  their  voyage  over  to  do 
ambulance  work,  in  a  way  that  drew  forth  the  gentle 
rebukes  of  a  Protestant  minister  who  happened  to 
be  a  passenger  on  the  same  boat.  They  left  him  on 
the  docks  at  Liverpool  and,  along  with  his  advice, 
he  passed  out  of  their  minds  until  two  months  later 
one  of  them  met  him  in  a  general's  car  in  Alsace. 
He  stopped  and  told  this  fellow  that  he  was  preaching 
a  series  of  sermons  at  the  front  and  invited  him  to 
come  and  hear  him  the  next  Sunday  in  a  near-by 
town,  adding  that  among  other  things  he  thought 
he  would  touch  upon  the  question  of  "War  and 
Temperance."  .^. 

Speaking  of  the  Fourth  of  July  reminds  me  that 

35 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

on  the  national  French  holiday  of  the  Fourteenth  of 
July,  I  saw  General  Joffre  in  never-to-be-forgotten 
circumstances.  He  was  spending  this  day  in  Alsace, 
and  when  early  that  morning  I  approached  a  little 
village  in  an  empty  ambulance,  I  was  stopped  by  a 
sentry  and,  after  being  asked  if  I  had  wounded 
aboard,  told  that  General  Joffre  was  making  a 
speech  in  the  town  square  and  that  I  would  have 
to  wait  until  he  had  finished  before  I  could  get 
through. 

Of  course  I  at  once  left  my  ambulance  and  ran  to 
the  square,  knowing  how  rarely  one  ever  saw  quota- 
tion marks  after  the  Generalissime's  name.  I  was, 
however,  too  late  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say,  for, 
laconic  as  ever,  he  had  finished  speaking  when  I  came 
within  earshot.  Opposite  a  gray  brick  church  was  a 
line  of  eight  flag-bedecked  automobiles,  six  for  the 
Generalissime  and  his  staff  and  two  for  emergencies 
which,  I  am  told,  is  the  way  he  always  travels.  Gen- 
eral Joffre  himself,  standing  on  the  ground  and  sur- 
rounded by  officers  ablaze  with  decorations,  was 
listening  to  fifty  little  Alsatian  girls  singing  the 
"Marseillaise."  They  were  finishing  the  last  verse 
when  I  arrived,  and  when  their  sweet  childish  voices 
no  longer  rang  out  in  contrast  to  the  brilliant  but 
grim  surroundings,  General  Joffre,  stepping  out  from 
among  his  officers,  held  one  of  the  prettiest  of  the 
little  girls  high  in  his  powerful  arms  and  kissed 
her  twice.  The  next  day  driving  through  this  town 
again  I  noticed  the  following  sign :  — 

36 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

Le  General  Joffre, 

Gceneralissime  des  Armees  de  la  Republique 

a  dejeune  dans  cette  maison. 

Le  15^™*  Bataillon  de  Chasseurs  Alpins  occupant  cette  region. 

Delivree  par  lui  le  7  Aout  1914. 

Alsace  has  been  for  forty  years  German  territory. 
For  forty  years  young  Alsatians  have  been  forced  to 
learn  German  in  the  schools,  to  serve  in  the  German 
army,  to  be  links  in  the  civil  and  military  chains 
which  bound  them  to  the  Kaiser's  empire.  A  few 
days  ago  I  took  the  photograph  of  an  Alsatian  girl 
standing  in  the  doorway  of  her  home,  which  she  said 
she  was  going  to  send  through  Switzerland  to  her 
brother  in  the  German  army  "somewhere  in  Rus- 
sia." But  French  hearts  doubtless  beat  under  many 
a  German  imiform,  and  those  of  us  who  have  lived 
in  Alsace  are  confident  that  re-annexation  by  France 
will  not  be  a  slow  or  a  difficult  process.  Alsace  has 
been  tied  to  France  by  something  which  forty  busy 
years  have  not  found  a  way  to  change.  The  armies 
of  the  Republic  have  been  received  with  an  open 
hand  and  an  open  heart.  I  know  of  a  fine  field  hospi- 
tal organized  and  staiffed  entirely  by  Alsatian  ladies 
happy  to  be  nursing  wounded  French  soldiers.  I 
know  of  Alsatian  boys,  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war 
not  yet  old  enough  to  have  commenced  their  Ger- 
man military  training,  who  are  to-day  volunteer,  and 
only  volunteer,  French  soldiers. 

We  have  drawn  our  impressions  of  Alsace  chiefly 
from  five  or  six  towns  in  a  commercial  valley.  They 
are  subject  to  long-range  shelling  and  bombs  dropped 

37 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

from  aeroplanes.  Indeed,  my  first  day  in  Alsace  was 
spent  in  the  yard  of  a  hospital  contrived  out  of  a 
schoolhouse.  Our  cars  were  parked  beneath  the  win- 
dows of  one  of  its  wings,  and  all  day  long  one  heard 
the  pitiful  moans  of  a  mother  and  her  two  little 
daughters  who  had  been  wounded  the  night  before 
when  the  Germans  had  dropped  half  a  dozen  shells 
into  the  town  where  they  lived. 

But  these  towns  seem  to  be,  on  the  whole,  cheer- 
ful, prosperous  places.  Soldiers  resting  from  the 
trenches  flirt  the  time  away  with  bilingual  Alsatian 
girls.  Horns,  claxons,  and  the  hum  of  motors  make 
in  the  little  mountain-smothered  streets  the  noises 
of  Broadway  or  Piccadilly.  The  cafes  and  stores  are 
full  from  morning  until  eight  o'clock,  when  all  lights 
must  be  put  out. 

Nothing  is  taken  by  the  soldiery  without  being 
paid  for,  a  fact  that  was  brought  sharply  home  to 
me  on  one  occasion.  We  needed  wood  for  the  kitchen- 
fire  of  a  little  dressing-station  hidden  on  a  tree-cov- 
ered mountain-top.  I  picked  up  an  axe  and  started 
to  get  some  exercise  and  the  wood  for  the  fire  at  the 
same  time;  but  the  cook  excitedly  told  me  that  not 
even  in  that  out-of-the-way  place,  unless  he  had  the 
proper  military  authorization,  would  he  dare  cut 
down  a  tree,  because  the  commune  must  be  paid 
for,  every  twig  of  it. 

But,  interesting  as  these  towns  are,  it  is  beyond 
them  that  we  do  our  most  useful  work.   I  am  writ- 

38 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

ing,  as  it  happens,  at  a  dressing-station  between  the 
artillery  and  the  infantry  lines  where  two  of  our  cars 
are  always  on  duty.  The  driver  of  the  other  car, 
eight  months  ago,  was  in  charge  of  a  cattle  ranch  in 
the  Argentine,  and  last  May,  a  passenger  on  the  ill- 
fated  Lusitania,  was  rescued  after  four  hours  in  the 
water.  He  is  on  his  back  tightening  bolts  underneath 
his  car,  and  a  hole  in  the  left  sole  of  his  projecting 
shoes  tells  of  hours  with  the  low  speed  jammed  on, 
for  this  is  the  way  we  have  to  drive  down  as  well  as 
up  hill. 

We  are  at  one  end  of  a  valley  which,  opening  grad- 
ually, runs  into  the  basin  of  the  Rhine.  Our  two 
ambulances  are  backed  up  against  a  hay-loft  dress- 
ing-station among  a  little  group  of  houses  frequently 
mentioned  in  the  communiques.  At  this  minute  the 
place  is  as  peaceful  as  any  Florida  glade;  it  does  not 
seem  possible  that  war  can  be  so  near,  so  completely 
hushed.  There  is  little  military  in  the  appearance 
of  a  few  stretcher-bearers,  dressed  in  the  discarded 
clothes  of  peace,  throwing  stones  into  an  apple  tree; 
there  is  not  a  gun  to  be  seen;  there  is  not  a  sound  to 
be  heard  unless  you  listen  to  catch  the  splash  of  a 
mountain  stream  or  the  tinkle  of  the  bells  tied 
around  the  necks  of  the  cows  grazing  high  up  on  a 
green  but  ladder-steep  mountain-side.  Coming  down 
the  road  towards  me  is  a  little  barefooted  boy  driv- 
ing a  half-dozen  cows  to  where  some  girls  are  waiting 
in  a  pen  to  milk  them.  A  little  later,  when  my  com- 
panion and  I  sit  down  to  dinner  with  the  young 

39 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

midecin  auxiliaire  in  charge  of  the  post,  there  will 
be  some  of  this  milk  on  the  table. 

But  long  before  dinner-time  the  whole  surrounding 
aspect  may  change  as  if  by  black  magic.  Tree-hidden 
batteries,  some  only  a  hundred  yards  away  and  some 
on  the  tops  of  neighboring  and  surrounding  moun- 
tains, may  speak  together  with  their  "brutal  lungs" 
until  the  echoes,  rolling  and  accumulating,  make  a 
grand,  persistent  roar.  Even  trench-weary  soldiers 
will  unconsciously  duck  their  heads  and  stand  ready 
to  run  to  the  bomb-proofs  if  the  answering  German 
shells  begin  to  fall  close  to  them.  After  dark  the 
wounded  will  arrive,  carried  on  stretchers,  rested  on 
men's  shoulders,  or  pushed  in  wheelbarrows,  to  the 
hay-loft  where  a  doctor,  working  almost  entirely 
without  ansesthetics,  treats  such  cases  as  the  doc- 
tors in  the  trench  dressing-stations  passed  without 
attention. 

By  this  time  also,  on  a  night  when  many  wounded 
are  arriving,  six  or  eight  more  American  ambulances 
will  be  summoned  by  telephone.  There  will  be  no 
headlights  used;  only  a  great  swinging  of  lanterns 
and  much  shouting  back  and  forth  in  French  and 
English.  Although  the  firing  after  dark  will  not  be 
so  general,  one  or  two  batteries  will  continue  to  break 
out  sharply  every  few  minutes.  One  of  our  squad 
leaders  will  be  on  hand  as  driver  in  charge  of  the 
situation.  *'Are  you  ready  to  roll?"  he  will  call  to 
somebody  as  the  doctor  comes  up  and  speaks  to  him. 
A  dark  figure  standing  by  a  car  will  lean  over  and 

40 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

spin  a  crank,  an  engine  will  sputter  and  pour  forth 
smoke,  for  we  must  use  a  double  supply  of  oil  on 
these  grades.  Then  an  ambulance  will  back  up  to 
the  door  of  the  barn  and  the  driver,  leaving  his  en- 
gine throttled  down,  will  help  in  lifting  the  stretch- 
ers. 

To  go  from  this  place  to  the  sorting-point  behind 
the  lines  to  which  the  wounded  are  taken  is  the  worst 
run  we  have.  It  means  almost  always  wondering  if 
your  car  will  make  the  grades,  if  you  acted  prop- 
erly in  letting  yourself  be  persuaded  to  take  three 
wounded  instead  of  the  specified  two.  It  means 
coming  upon  comrades  en  panne  and  lending  a  hand 
or  hurrying  on  with  the  distress  signal,  stopping  to 
pour  water  into  your  boiling  radiator,  halting  to 
pass  convoys,  arguments,  decisions/' noms-de-Dieu,^' 
backing  to  a  wider  place,  wheels  that  nearly  go  over 
the  edge,  pot-bellied  munition-wagons  that  scrape 
off  your  side  boxes,  getting  into  a  ditch  and  having 
to  be  pulled  out  by  mules  or  pushed  out  by  men. 

It  is  a  journey  fraught  with  worry,  for  there  is 
always  the  danger  of  delay  when  delay  may  mean 
death  and  is  sure  to  mean  suffering  for  the  wounded 
in  your  car.  And  sometimes  when,  with  bad  cases 
aboard,  you  are  stuck  and  can't  get  out  until  some- 
body turns  up  to  help  you,  it  is  unbearable  to  stay 
near  your  car  and  hear  their  pitiful  groans. 

But  the  down  part  of  the  journey  is  full  of  more 
acute  dangers.  You  are  at  the  mercy  of  your  brakes. 
If  they  fail  you,  there  is  only  the  bank.  A  quick  turn 

41 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

of  the  steering-wheel  and  you  are  all  right;  that  is, 
there  will  be  only  a  cruel  shaking-up  for  the  men  you 
are  carrying  and  a  broken  radius  rod  or  perhaps  a 
smashed  radiator.  But  this  is  better  than  going  over 
the  bank  and  better  than  running  amuck  through 
a  train  of  mules  with  their  deadly  loads  of  explosives. 

Only  during  the  last  two  months  have  we  been 
able  to  use  the  first  ten  kilometres  of  this  road  at  all. 
Even  now  for  the  climbing  part  of  the  journey  we 
take  none  but  the  more  seriously  wounded,  leaving 
the  rest  to  be  carried  in  light  wagons  pulled  by  mules, 
until  they  get  to  some  mountain-top  relay-point 
where  our  cars  are  stationed.  Most  of  these  relay- 
points  are  very  close  to  one  or  several  French  batter- 
ies. Some  of  them  are  established  in  the  midst  of 
thriving  cantonments  buried  in  the  woods  and  with- 
in sight  of  the  German  trenches  on  a  sister  mountain- 
top.  Others,  farther  removed  from  the  enemy  lines 
and  higher  above  the  level  of  destruction,  are  on  sum- 
mits suitable  only  for  the  biggest  of  the  French  guns 
and  reached  in  turn  only  by  the  very  long-range  Ger- 
man guns. 

Such  a  place  is  a  mountain-top  at  which  we  feel 
almost  as  much  at  home  as  at  our  base,  for  eight  of 
our  cars  are  always  on  duty  at  this  place,  each  man 
serving  for  a  week  at  a  time,  and  one  man  being  re- 
lieved every  day.  It  is  one  of  those  plateau-shaped 
eminences  which  are  mentioned  in  geographies  as 
distinguishing  the  Vosges  from  the  Alps  and  the 
Pyrenees.    It  is  treeless  through  exposure  to  the 

42 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

wind,  and  its  brow  slopes  gradually  towards  the 
French  side,  with  a  succession  of  cuplike  hollows 
tenanted  by  brush-covered  bomb-proofs  and  dug- 
outs and  horse-sheds.  Other  than  topographical 
concealments  are  also  employed;  gray  horses  are 
dyed  brown  and  groups  of  road-builders  when  at 
work  in  some  particularly  exposed  place  carry,  like 
the  army  that  went  against  Macbeth,  umbrellas  of 
branches. 

We  are  housed  here  in  a  long,  low  shack  built 
against  the  side  of  the  crest.  Violent  storms  some- 
times take  the  roof  off  this  shack  with  the  conse- 
quent drenching  of  the  surgeon  in  charge,  ourselves, 
a  half-dozen  stretcher-bearers  and  as  many  mule- 
drivers.  Bunks  are  built  crosswise  against  the  side 
of  the  walls,  and  over  some  of  these  bunks  the  words 
*'Pour  Intransportables''  are  written.  The  rest,  how- 
ever, are  occupied  by  people  on  duty  here,  for  it  is 
merely  a  relay-point,  and  the  wounded,  unless  un- 
able to  stand  a  further  journey  or  arriving  by  mules 
in  numbers  greater  than  we  can  handle,  are  merely 
changed  from  one  mode  of  conveyance  to  another 
and  given  such  attention  in  passing  as  they  may  need. 

When  one  of  the  beds  for  intransportahles  is  occu- 
pied, it  generally  means  that  the  man  dies  in  a  few 
days  and  is  buried  close  by,  a  corporal  of  stretcher- 
bearers,  who  was  before  the  war  a  Roman  Catholic 
missionary  in  Ceylon,  borrowing  from  one  of  us  a 
camera  to  take  for  the  dead  man's  family  a  photo- 
graph of  the  isolated  grave  marked  with  one  of  those 

4S 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

simple  wooden  crosses  from  which  no  mile  of  north- 
ern France  is  free.  Deaths  of  this  sort  are  peculiarly 
sad.  Anybody  who  has  nursed  in  the  wards  of  a 
military  hospital  will  tell  you  how  soldiers,  seasoned 
in  trenches  that  high  explosives  and  mines  and 
hand-grenades  have  turned  into  shambles,  will  grow 
gloomy  when  one  man  in  their  ward  dies.  It  is  the 
same  way  with  these  single  deaths  and  lonely  funer- 
als at  the  front. 

Generals,  of  course,  stand  for  the  "larger  issues" 
of  the  war;  it  is  their  decisions  that  figure  in  to-mor- 
row's communiques.  But  at  the  front,  doctors  repre- 
sent destiny  in  a  much  more  picturesque  way:  it  is 
no  use  putting  these  blesses  in  an  ambulance;  death 
will  close  over  them  quite  as  gently  here  as  twenty 
kilometres  farther  to  the  rear.  This  man's  rheuma- 
tism demands  that  he  be  sent  to  Lyons  or  Mar- 
seilles; that  one  has  five  days  in  a  base  hospital 
and  is  in  the  trenches  for  the  next  death  revel.  A 
businesslike  surgeon  pronounces  his  judgments  in  a 
ghastly  j)oste  de  secours,  —  it  is  nothing  compared 
with  "strategical  necessities,"  —  it  will  have  no 
place  beside  announcements  of  yards  of  trenches 
taken  and  yards  of  trenches  lost,  —  and  yet,  it  is  life 
or  death  for  some  brave  soldier  and  all  in  the  world 
that  counts  for  some  family  circle. 

These  mountain-tops  are  often  for  weeks  on  end 
bathed  in  a  heavy  mist  varied  by  rainstorms.    At 

44 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

such  times  when  there  is  no  work  to  do,  —  and 
very  frequently  there  are  no  wounded  to  carry  for 
twenty-four  hours  or  more,  —  the  surgeon,  our- 
selves, the  brancardiers,  and  the  mule-drivers,  close 
in  around  the  stove.  One  of  these  hrancardiers, 
or  stretcher-carriers,  was  transferred  after  being 
wounded  at  the  battle  of  the  Marne  from  the  front- 
line troops  to  the  Service  Sanitaire,  and  before  the 
war  he  had  served  five  years  in  the  Foreign  Legion 
in  Africa.  His  stories  of  this  period  are  endless  and 
interesting,  and,  after  listening  to  them  for  a  week, 
we  all  go  back  to  our  base  calling  soldiers  nothing 
but  poilus;  coffee,  jus;  wine,  pinard;  canned  beef, 
singe;  army  organization,  systeme  D.  There  is  also  a 
good  deal  of  reading  done  by  many  of  the  Section 
on  the  rainy  days  of  no  work.  It  is  part  of  the  daily 
relieving  man's  unofficial  but  well-understood  duties 
to  bring  along  any  magazines  and  newspapers  that 
he  can  get  hold  of,  and  generally,  too,  books  gradu- 
ally accumulate  and  grow  to  be  considered  as  a  sort 
of  library  that  must  not  be  taken  away.  Indeed, 
at  one  poste  de  secours  our  library  consists  at  present 
of  two  or  three  French  novels  and  plays,  "The  New- 
comes,"  a  two- volume  "Life  of  Ruskin,"  "Tess  of 
the  D'UrberviUes,"  and  "Les  Miserables." 

When  a  group  of  men  are  on  duty  at  an  isolated 
poste  de  secours  like  this,  they  take  turns  in  carry- 
ing the  wounded  who  may  arrive,  the  man  who  has 
made  the  last  trip  going  to  the  bottom  of  the  list. 

45 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

And  there  is  something  comfortable  about  feeling 
that  you  are  the  last  to  "roll"  on  a  stormy  night 
when  every  plank  in  the  little  hut  rattles  and  groans, 
when  the  wind  shrieks  in  the  desolate  outside,  when 
the  sinister  glare  of  the,  trench  rockets  gleams 
through  the  heavy  blackness  like  a  flash  of  lightning, 
and  the  wet  mule-drivers  who  borrow  a  little  of  your 
fire  shake  their  heads  and  pointing  towards  the  road 
say,  "  Un  mauvais  chemin,'*  And  then,  as  you  settle 
a  little  deeper  in  your  blankets  and  blow  out  your 
lantern  and  assure  yourself  for  the  last  time  as  to 
where  your  matches  are  and  how  much  gasoline  you 
have  in  your  tank,  you  are  pretty  apt  to  think,  be- 
fore you  go  to  sleep,  of  the  men  a  little  way  off  in 
the  rain-soaked  trenches. 

They  are  certainly  not  very  far  away.  Only  over 
there  on  the  next  ridge  where  the  shells  are  explod- 
ing. They  have  been  there,  you  know,  without  relief 
for  ten  days.  You  remember  when  they  marched 
up  the  mountain  to  take  their  turn.  How  cheery 
and  soldierlike  they  were!  Not  one  of  them,  like 
you,  is  sleeping  in  blankets.  They  won't,  like  you, 
go  back  to-morrow  to  a  pleasant  dinner,  with  pleas- 
ant friends,  in  a  pleasant  hotel,  and  out  of  sound, 
too,  of  those  awful  guns.  Some  will  come  back  and 
you  will  carry  them  in  your  ambulance.  And  some 
will  never  come  back  at  all.  Well  .  .  . 

"Did  I  leave  that  spark-plug  wrench  under  the 
car?  God  knows  I  can  never  find  it  on  a  night  like 
this  and  I  change  a  plug  every  trip  I" 

46 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

"Wake  up  I  Don't  talk  in  your  sleep!" 
"What,  is  it  my  turn  to  roll?  Wounded?" 
^  "No,  Steve  is  en  panne  halfway  down  the  moun- 
tain." 

And  you  begin  to  take  things  in  with  one  of  the 
Section's  sous-chefs  leaning  over  your  cot  with  the 
news  that  the  first  man  on  the  list  has  a  load  of 
wounded  and  has  met  with  an  accident.  The  others 
are  waked  up  too.  Some  are  left  to  take  care  of  such 
other  woimded  as  may  arrive  and  the  rest  form  a  res- 
cue party.  Two  ride  in  the  rescue  ambulance;  two 
more  probably  walk.  The  wounded  are  moved  from 
the  broken-down  car  to  the  other  ambulance,  and 
then  daylight  finds  three  or  four  of  us  rain-drenched 
and  mud-smeared,  changing  a  brake-band  or  digging 
into  a  carburetor. 

'  The  arrival  of  the  relieving  car  at  one  of  those  posts 
on  a  rainy  day,  when  every  one  of  us  is  to  be  found 
within  twenty  feet  of  the  stove,  means  a  demand  in 
chorus  for  mail  and  after  that  for  news,  especially 
Section  gossip  from  Headquarters,  which  means  who 
has  had  to, wash  cars  and  who  has  broken  down  en 
route. 

"Number  52  runs  like  a  breeze  now.  I  drove  it 
yesterday  and  it  climbed  the  col  on  high  with  two 
wounded,"  the  newcomer  will  say,  producing  some 
contribution  to  the  mess. 

"And  last  night,  there  was  a  call  for  three  cars  at 
midnight.  Did  n't  any  of  the  wounded  come  this  way? 

47 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

So-and-So  had  magneto  trouble  bringing  back  his 
first  load.  He  said  Henry  Ford  himself  could  not  have 
started  the  boat.  So  the  repair  car  went  out  at  four 
o'clock  this  morning." 

**That  boy  certainly  has  his  troubles.  Do  you  re- 
member the  time  he  had  two  blow-outs  and  four 
punctures  in  twenty-four  hours  and  then  had  all  his 
brake-bands  go  at  once  ?  It  was  two  miles  he  ran  to 
get  another  car  to  take  his  wounded." 

"He  looked  low  when  he  came  in  about  breakfast 
time,"  somebody  else  will  put  in. 

"I  tell  you  he  will  use  too  much  oil.  It  goes 
through  these  old  cars  like  a  dose  of  salts,"  a  third 
will  add. 

On  bad  days  the  discussion  will  go  on  this  way  un- 
til time  for  the  next  meal.  But  on  clear  days  during 
summer  and  early  autumn  weather,  we  have  stayed 
indoors  very  little.  The  air  is  champagne-like  and  the 
view  on  all  sides  magnificent.  It  is  possible,  also,  from 
a  number  of  these  eminences  to  follow  in  a  fascinating 
fashion  the  progress  of  artillery  duels,  and,  with  a 
good  pair  of  glasses,  even  to  see  infantry  advancing 
to  the  attack.  When  the  cannonading  is  heavy  the 
whole  horizon  pops  and  rumbles  and  from  the  sea  of 
green  mountains  spread  out  before  you  rise  puffs  of 
shrapnel  smoke,  flaky  little  clouds  about  the  size  of  a 
man's  hand  and  pale  against  the  tree-tops,  as  one 
thinks  of  death  as  pale.  They  hover,  sometimes  too 
many  at  a  time  to  count,  above  the  mountains  and 
then  sink  down  again  into  the  general  greenness.  The 

48 


THE  SECTION  IN  ALSACE  RECONQUISE 

sky,  too,  is  generally  dotted  with  these  same  little 
flaky  clouds  when  aeroplanes  are  abroad.  And  aero- 
planes are  abroad  every  fair  day,  for  they  are  seldom 
or  never  hit  and  brought  down,  although  the  anti-air- 
craft guns,  especially  when  hedging  them  in  with 
"barrier  fire,"  seem  to  limit  their  activities. 

Soldiers,  as  I  have  said,  march  by  these  posts  on 
their  way  to  and  from  the  trenches.  Whenever  they 
are  allowed  to  break  ranks  near  our  cars  they  crowd 
around  us  with  little  bottles  in  their  hands  asking  for 
gasoline  to  put  in  cigarette  lighters  which  they  make 
out  of  German  bullets.  Most  of  these  men  belong  to 
battalions  of  Chasseurs  Alpins,  and  I  do  not  suppose 
there  are  any  finer  soldiers  in  the  world  than  those 
stocky,  merry-eyed  men  from  the  mountain  prov- 
inces of  France,  with  their  picturesque  caps  and 
their  dark-blue  coats  set  off  by  their  horison-blue 
trousers.  They  are  called,  indeed,  the  "blue  devils," 
and  when  the  communiques  say,  "After  a  heavy  shell- 
ing of  some  of  the  enemy  heights  in  the  Vosges  our 
infantry  advanced  to  the  attack  and  succeeded  in 
taking  so  many  of  the  enemy  trenches,"  it  is  probably 
the  Chasseurs  Alpins  who  have  led  the  way  in  the 
face  of  the  hand-grenades  and  machine-gun  fire  and 
the  streams  of  burning  oil  that,  in  this  country  es- 
pecially, make  the  "meaning  of  a  mile"  so  terrible. 

One  of  our  Section  who  was  compelled  to  return  to 
America  the  other  day  took  with  him  as  his  single 
keepsake  a  crumpled  photograph  with  a  signature 

49 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

scrawled  in  one  corner.  It  was  of  a  sous-officier  of  a 
famous  battalion  of  Chasseurs  Alpins.  His  heavy 
pack  was  jauntily  thrown  over  his  shoulders;  his  ber- 
ret  was  rakishly  tilted  to  one  side;  and  on  his  breast 
gleamed  the  green  and  red  ribbon  of  the  Croix  de 
Guerre,  the  crimson  of  the  LSgion  d'Honneur,  and  the 
yellow  of  the  MSdaille  Militaire, 

You  could  find  no  better  symbol  of  the  laughing 
gallantry,  the  sturdy  strength,  and  the  indomitable 
courage  of  France. 

Preston  Lockwood 


CHASSEVKALPIN  135 


IV 

LAST  DAYS  IN  ALSACE 

By  December  20,  the  approximate  date  of  the  begin- 
ning of  the  French  attack  upon  the  German  positions 
on  Hartmannsweilerkopf,  the  headquarters  of  Sec- 
tion 3  of  the  American  Ambulance  had  been  moved 
temporarily  to  a  place  called  Moosch.  Here  was  lo- 
cated a  large  modern  hospital  to  which  the  wounded 
were  brought  from  the  dressing-stations  in  the  moun- 
tains, two  or  three  kilometres  behind  the  lines  of  ad- 
vance trenches.  From  this  hospital  the  blesses  were 
moved  into  the  interior  as  fast  as  their  condition 
would  permit.  It  was  the  duty  of  the  small  American 
Ford  ambulances  to  bring  the  wounded  from  these 
mountain  stations  down  to  the  hospital  at  Moosch. 
Moosch,  a  typical  Alsatian  town,  consisting  of  a 
few  large  buildings,  the  "Mairie,"  the  church,  a 
hotel  or  two,  and  perhaps  a  weaving  mill,  about 
which  are  clustered  the  homes  and  stores  and  cafes  or 
combination  of  these  latter,  is  situated  in  the  valley 
of  the  river  Thur.  This  valley  runs  up,  and  west  or 
slightly  north  of  west,  to  the  divide,  between  the 
Moselle  River  and  the  Thur,  this  divide  making  the 
old  boundary  between  French  and  German  territory; 
and  down  in  a  south  of  east  direction  until  the  moun- 
tains end  and  we  enter  the  plain  that  forms  part  of 
the  drainage  basin  of  the  Rhine.    Moosch  is  about 

51 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

halfway  down  this  valley  and  about  twelve  kilo- 
metres from  the  front,  which  was  on  the  last  row  of 
hills  before  the  beginning  of  this  plain. 

The  valley  itself  ranges  from  one  to  two  kilo- 
metres in  width  and  the  green  forest-clad  mountains 
rise  on  each  side  to  a  height  of  three  hundred  to  four 
hundred  metres.  In  the  floor  of  the  valley  were 
orchards,  open  fields,  and  small  towns.  Down  the 
centre  of  it  was  the  broad  road  which  continued  up 
and  over  the  divide  into  France.  It  formed,  aside 
from  an  aerial  tramway  that  the  French  constructed 
over  the  divide  especially  for  this  war,  the  only 
avenue  of  traffic  for  the  supplies  of  ammunition, 
guns,  food,  etc.,  for  the  armies  that  were  situated 
in  this  district.  As  a  consequence  it  was  night  and 
day  a  scene  of  activity  throughout  its  entire  length. 
Down  the  valley  this  road  had  two  important 
branches,  one  at  a  point  six  kilometres  from  Moosch 
and  another  at  eight.  Both  these  branches  followed 
the  course  of  small  creeks  that  feed  the  river  Thur, 
up  and  up  the  small  valleys  through  which  the 
streams  flowed,  then  turned  up  the  mountain-side 
and  climbed  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  larger  hills. 
One  route  was  used  for  traffic  ascending,  the  other 
for  all  descending,  except  for  any  that  was  required 
by  Red  Cross  Stations  or  artillery  posts  along  the 
way.  In  this  manner  much  passing  of  the  up  and 
down  streams  of  wagons,  mules,  motor  trucks,  etc., 
which  would  have  been  well-nigh  impossible  on  these 
steep,  narrow  roads,  was  avoided. 

52 


LAST  DAYS  IN  ALSACE 

On  the  mountain-top  was  a  small  space,  some- 
what cleared  of  the  forest  growth,  where  three  roads 
met,  two  that  have  already  been  mentioned  and  an- 
other that  went  over  one  shoulder  of  the  mountains 
and  down  to  an  advance  poste  de  secours,  practically 
under  Hartmannsweilerkopf  itself.  In  one  angle  of 
the  "Y"  formed  by  these  roads  were  a  few  roughly 
constructed  buildings  for  taking  care  of  the  wounded, 
cooking,  etc.,  and  in  another  nothing  but  the  steep 
slope  of  the  mountain  with  a  cabin  or  two  tucked 
close  against  it  amid  the  pine  woods.  In  the  last 
angle  was  a  small  graveyard  where  lay  the  men  who 
had  died  from  wounds  there  at  the  station  or  had 
been  killed  during  the  bombardment  of  some  local 
artillery  post  or  of  the  road.  Next  to  this  graveyard 
was  a  limited  parking-space  for  the  ambulances,  and 
beyond  this  the  cosy  little  building,  the  poste  de  se- 
cours,  where  the  French  stretcher-bearers  and  Amer- 
ican drivers  ate  and  slept  together  when  not  at  work. 

This  place  was  popular  among  the  Americans,  at 
first,  at  least,  before  the  Germans  captured  a  colonel 
with  telltale  maps  upon  his  person,  and  their  guns 
began  to  find  and  make  uninhabitable  a  spot  that 
had  once  seemed  a  secure  retreat.  Up  in  the  fresh 
air  and  ozone  of  the  pine  woods,  it  was  hard,  in  spite 
of  the  graveyard  near  by  and  the  ever-passing  stream 
of  ammunition  wagons  or  pack  trains,  not  to  think 
of  this  place  as  a  pleasant  vacation  ground.  The 
Frenchmen,  too,  were  wonderful  companions,  play- 
ful as  boys  of  ten,  and  kind  and  generous  to  a  fault. 

53 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

After  a  snowstorm,  unless  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
work,  there  was  sure  to  be  a  tremendous  snow  battle 
in  progress,  and  the  v  Frenchmen,  old  territorials 
some  of  them,  forty  to  fifty  to  sixty  years  of  age, 
would  be  as  hard  after  one  another  as  boys  in  their 
mimic  wars.  Their  generosity  went  so  far  as  surren- 
dering their  bunks  to  the  Americans  while  they  slept 
out  in  the  ambulances.  At  times  the  little  poste  de 
secours  would  be  a  scene  of  revelry,  the  professional 
entertainer  taking  part  in  the  programme  of  the 
evening  with  the  country  songster.  More  often, 
however,  the  Frenchmen  were  busy  and  the  Ameri- 
cans would  amuse  themselves  with  some  deep,  pro- 
tracted argument  or  read  the  latest  book  on  the  war 
that  some  kind  friend  had  sent  to  a  member  of  the 
Section.  At  night  the  little  hut  had  its  bunks  filled 
to  overflowing,  but  sleeping  was  generally  good,  un- 
less your  bedfellow  happened  to  be  a  soldier  dream- 
ing of  battle  or  a  mule-driver  dreaming  of  swearing 
at  his  mules.  At  night  there  were  always  one  or  two 
interruptions,  especially  whenever  an  ambulance- 
driver  was  wanted.  Those  who  were  sent  to  call  him 
always  succeeded  in  waking  the  whole  lot  of  sleepers 
before  finding  the  man  whose  turn  it  was  to  "roll." 

This  "night  rolling,"  as  it  is  called,  is  not  the  easiest 
thing  to  do  by  any  means.  The  road,  steep  and  nar- 
row and  rough  at  any  time,  would  in  snowy  or  rainy 
weather  cause  an  occasional  sinking  of  the  heart  to 
the  best  of  drivers.  To  these  difficulties  was  added 
the  necessity  of  passing  the  slowly  descending  trains 

54 


WINTER  DAYS   IN   ALSACE 


LAST  DAYS  IN  ALSACE 

of  ammunition  wagons  and  mules.  On  one  stretch 
of  road  no  lights  were  permitted,  as  they  would 
have  disclosed  its  location  to  the  Germans.  On  nights 
when  there  was  no  moonlight  and  heavy  mists  en- 
shrouded the  mountains,  it  was  a  trying  nerve  strain 
to  come  down  this  bit  of  road.  The  history  of  every 
car  would  be  full  of  stories  of  narrow  escapes  from 
running  into  wagons,  mules,  or  men,  or  running  over 
the  edge  of  the  road  or  against  the  side  of  the  hill. 
These  difficulties  and  trials,  however,  were  n't  what 
would  occupy  the  mind  when  the  German  shells 
began  breaking  near;  they  lose  their  importance 
entirely.  One  can  get  used  to  the  blind  driving  on  a 
dark  night,  but  never  to  the  high-explosive  shells. 
Even  on  the  floor  of  the  valley  where  the  road  is 
level,  the  thrills  might  not  cease,  for  here  it  has 
been  a  common  experience  to  run  into  an  unlighted 
wagon  or  to  be  smashed  by  a  heavy,  ponderous  motor 
truck.  Perhaps  it  would  be  a  mere  matter  of  get- 
ting ditched  in  the  effort  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the 
latter.  But  with  the  Ford  this  was  never  a  serious 
trouble,  as  eight  or  ten  men,  and  they  were  always 
to  be  had  in  a  few  moments  on  any  part  of  the  road, 
could  quickly  lift  it  out  and  put  it  on  the  road  again. 
Out  of  the  most  severe  smash-ups  the  Fords  have 
emerged  supreme  and  in  every  case  proved  the  state- 
ment that  a  "Ford  car  can  be  bent  but  not  broken." 
At  the  hospital  the  wounded  would  be  taken  out, 
new  blankets  and  stretchers  put  in,  the  gas  tank 
filled,  and  the  car  sent  up  the  mountain  again  to  wait 

55 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

for  more  hlessis  unless  it  was  time  for  the  driver  to 
turn  in  and  get  a  bit  of  sleep. 

During  the  day  a  call  would  very  often  mean  a 
trip  down  the  other  side  of  the  mountain  to  the  ad- 
vance posts  nearer  Hartmannsweilerkopf.  While 
day  driving  has  n't  the  terrors  of  night  driving,  yet 
the  road  near  these  two  posts  and  the  posts  them- 
selves were  more  often  the  object  for  German  fire, 
and  it  was  with  a  little  feeling  of  dread  that  one  went 
there.  The  road  down  to  it  was  exceedingly  steep  in 
places  and  few  cars  could  make  the  return  trip  with 
a  full  load.  There  never  was  any  anxiety  about  stall- 
ing, however,  for  a  little  assistance  from  eight  or  ten 
soldiers  would  send  the  car  on  its  way  again.  Many 
a  time  a  driver  would  unconsciously  arrive  at  the 
posts  at  a  time  of  bombardment  and  be  told  to  leave 
his  machine  and  hurry  to  an  ahrL  An  dbri  is  a  cave 
or  dug-out  in  the  side  of  the  mountain  offering  pro- 
tection against  the  German  shells.  All  along  the 
mountain  roads  these  little  places  of  refuge  began  to 
appear  after  the  Germans  had  learned  how  to  drop 
shells  consistently  near  these  routes,  and  to  see  them 
thus  was  a  real  comfort  to  the  mind  whenever  the 
whistle  of  a  shell  sounded  unpleasantly  loud  and  near. 
These  caves  were  not  always  in  a  finished  state,  as  a 
big  broad-shouldered  driver  learned  to  his  discomfort 
and  the  vexation  of  his  two  comrades.  They  were 
taking  a  look  at  Hartmanns  from  a  portion  of  the 
road  whence  it  can  be  seen,  when  the  portentous 
sound  of  the  flying  shells  began  which  kept  coming 

5Q 


LAST  DAYS  IN  ALSACE 

nearer  and  nearer.  The  Americans  turned  and  ran 
up  the  road  to  one  of  these  abris,  the  big  man  lead- 
ing. He  darted  for  the  cave  entrance,  but  his  body 
was  just  too  big  and  he  was  wedged  tightly  between 
the  stone  sides,  while  his  two  comrades  pounded  on 
his  back  clamoring  for  admittance.  He  decided  it 
was  more  comfortable  and  safe  flat  against  the  rocks 
in  front  of  the  car,  and  safer,  too,  than  in  a  hole  the 
entrance  to  which  might  so  easily  be  closed. 

One  was  not  always  compelled  to  be  conscious  of 
such  unpleasant  things  as  bursting  shells.  At  slack 
periods  when  neither  side  was  firing,  and  the  traffic 
was  not  too  heavy  up  and  down  the  roads,  the  trip 
up  and  over  the  mountains  could  be  one  of  the 
pleasantest  of  rides.  Sometimes  after  a  snowstorm 
the  mountain  forest  scenes  were  magnificent,  and 
there  was  the  occasional  wonderful  expanse  of  view 
over  valley  and  plain  below.  Away  off  on  the  German 

side  could  be  seen  the  town  of  M which  was 

brightly  illuminated  at  night.  The  Germans  seemed 
indifferent  to  the  fact  that  these  lights  were  a  great 
temptation  to  the  French  gunners.  As  far  as  known, 
the  latter  seldom  yield  to  this  temptation  to  bombard 
civilians  despite  the  fact  that  the  Germans  were  shell- 
ing towns,  needlessly  it  seemed,  in  the  territory  held 
by  France.  Many  pleasant  rides  after  the  attack,  in 
the  warm  sunshine  of  the  spring  days  that  came  in 
January,  will  stay  in  the  minds  of  the  drivers,  a 
contrast  to  the  rushing  trips  taken  in  slush  and  mud 
and  snow  during  the  height  of  the  attack. 

57 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

The  time  spent  in  Moosch  at  the  hospital  was 
nearly  \  always  a  period  of  activity  and  interest. 
There  were  sure  to  be  minor  repairs  needing  atten- 
tion, tire-changing  to  be  done,  and  often  more  diffi- 
cult matters  to  attend  to,  such  as  eliminating  the 
knock  in  an  engine,  changing  brake-bands,  or  putting 
in  a  new  rear  axle.  The  hospital  itself  looked  across 
the  valley  to  the  hills  beyond,  upon  one  of  which  was 
anchored  a  small  sausage-shaped  balloon,  such  as 
is  used  all  along  the  French  line  for  observation  pur- 
poses. One  hundred  metres  back  of  the  hospital 
rose  the  hills  forming  the  other  side  of  the  valley. 
On  the  slope  of  one  of  these  was  the  rapidly  growing 
graveyard  where  the  bodies  of  .the  soldiers  who  had 
died  at  the  hospitals  were  laid.  Among  them  was 
the  body  of  Richard  Hall,  the  young  American  am- 
bulance driver  who  lost  his  hfe  during  the  attack, 
when  his  machine  was  struck  by  a  shell  on  the  road 
up  the  mountain.  On  the  east  side  of  the  hospital 
passed  a  small  road  that  led  up  to  the  graveyard, 
and  beyond  this  was  an  open  field  where  an  aero 
bomb  fell  with  disastrous  results  to  one  fowl  and  to 
the  windows  of  the  hospital  on  that  side.  In  the 
hospital  yard  on  this  side  were  put  the  ambulances 
needing  repairing,  and  in  rush  times  part  of  the  other 
side  of  the  yard  was  also  required.  Here  was  rather 
a  good-sized  building,  the  front  end  of  which  was  the 
morgue  and  the  other  end  the  laundry.  Behind  it 
was  a  small  shelter  where  the  bloody  stretchers  were 
cleaned.  It  was  in  these  surroundings,  with  the  rows 

58 


EFFECT  OF   GERMAN   SHELLS   IN    ALSACE   (THANN) 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO   HARTMANNSWEILERKOPF,   DECEMBER,   1915 


LAST  DAYS  IN  ALSACE 

of  coflSns  on  one  side  and  the  stretcher-cleaning  on 
the  other,  that  much  of  the  repair  work  was  done 
during  the  height  of  the  attack.  Here,  too,  would 
form  the  mihtary  funeral  processions  that  went  with 
the  bodies  to  the  graveyard  on  the  hill.  Two  fu- 
nerals a  day  of  one  to  five  coffins  was  the  regular 
schedule  in  the  busy  days  of  the  attack.  One  of  the 
most  intensely  interesting  sights  was  the  gathering  of 
the  whole  regiment,  of  those  who  were  left  after  the 
attack,  about  this  graveyard  to  give  a  last  formal 
salute  to  their  departed  comrades. 

Hardly  a  day  passed  during  the  period  of  the  at- 
tack when  the  village  was  not  shelled,  and  when  it 
was  clear,  the  German  aeroplanes  would  appear  and 
drop  their  bombs  or  smoke  signals,  or  seek  to  destroy 
the  observation  balloon  of  the  French,  descending  as 
near  to  it  as  they  dared.  One  of  the  prettiest  sights 
of  the  war  is  to  see  the  little  tufts  of  cloud  appear 
near  the  course  of  the  speeding  machine  whenever 
the  shrapnel  bombs  burst.  The  cloudlets  formed  by 
the  French  shells  are  white,  by  those  of  the  Germans, 
black.  It  was  surprising  how  difficult  it  seemed  for 
gunners  to  get  anywhere  near  the  aeroplanes.  They 
would  pepper  the  sky  in  every  direction  except  near 
the  moving  spot  they  were  trying  to  hit.  At  rare  in- 
tervals both  German  and  French  machines  were  up, 
and  their  manoeuvring  for  an  advantage  was  always 
interesting.  The  interest,  however,  in  this  sort  of 
thing  changes  after  a  few  bombs  have  been  dropped 
and  their  terrific  effect  seen. 

59 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Such  is  the  general  story  of  the  activity  and  life  of 
the  Section's  last  months  in  Alsace.  Its  details  would 
include  many  stories  of  tight  squeezes,  of  break-downs 
and  troubles  in  hot  places,  of  the  carrying  of  soldiers 
driven  mad  under  the  strain  of  war,  of  having  men  die 
in  your  car  on  the  way  to  the  hospital,  of  short  side 
trips  right  up  amidst  the  French  artillery  stations, 
and  always  of  the  patient,  quiet  suffering  of  the 
French  soldier.  There  would  be  stories  of  the  days 
when  the  car  would  have  "moods,"  and  refuse  to 
make  the  grades  as  it  ought,  and  then  again  of  times 
when  nothing  was  too  much  for  the  engine  to  do. 

After  the  attack  we  were  moved  from  Alsace  farther 
inland,  and  after  some  wandering  from  place  to  place 
through  a  country  that  had  been  the  scene  of  much 
fighting  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  war,  and  through 
villages  almost  completely  destroyed  by  the  Germans, 
we  were  sent  to  a  town  near  Nancy  —  Tantonville  — 
to  do  ambulance  work  for  the  hospitals  situated 
within  a  twenty-five- kilometre  radius  and  to  wait 
until  our  cars  could  be  overhauled  and  repaired. 

Everett  Jackson 


V 

THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

Though  desolation  stain  their  foiled  advance. 
In  ashen  ruins  hearth-stones  hnger  whole: 

Do  what  they  may  they  cannot  master  France, 
Do  what  they  can,  they  cannot  quell  the  soul. 

Barrett  Wendell 

AN   INTRODUCTION   BY   THEODORE   ROOSEVELT  ^ 

I  VERY  cordially  call  attention  to  this  account  of  the  work  of  one 
of  the  field  sections  of  the  American  Ambulance  in  France,  told 
out  of  his  own  experience  by  a  young  man,  a  graduate  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Virginia,  who  has  been  driving  an  ambulance  at  the 
front.  The  article  came  through  Hon.  A.  Piatt  Andrew,  formerly 
Assistant  Secretary  of  the  United  States  Treasury,  and  for  two 
years  treasurer  of  the  American  Red  Cross.  Mr.  Ajidrew  has  taken 
an  active  part  in  the  organization  of  the  work.  He  writes  that 
several  American  college  graduates  are  engaged  in  the  field  sec- 
tions, and  that  they  and  others  "have  been  working  for  months 
with  a  devotion  and  courage  which  have  commanded  glowing 
tributes  of  gratitude  and  admiration  from  many  French  officers.'* 
In  a  second  letter  Mr.  Andrew  states  that  the  faithful  Mignot 
(spoken  of  in  this  article)  was  killed  when  the  Germans  bom- 
barded the  headquarters  of  the  field  section. 

Every  young  man  just  leaving  college  —  from  Harvard,  from 
Yale,  from  Princeton,  from  Michigan,  Wisconsin,  or  California, 
from  Virginia  or  Sewanee,  in  short,  from  every  college  in  the 
country  —  ought  to  feel  it  incumbent  on  him  at  this  time  either 
to  try  to  render  some  assistance  to  those  who  are  battling  for  the 
right  on  behalf  of  Belgium,  or  else  to  try  to  fit  himself  to  help  his 

1  The  account  of  the  American  Ambulance  in  Lorraine  by  Mr.  J.  R. 
McConnell  was  printed  in  the  Outlook  for  September  15,  1915,  and  is 
reprinted  here  by  kind  permission  of  the  editors  of  that  journal.  The 
introduction  by  Theodore  Roosevelt  and  the  drawing  by  M.  Bils  also 
originally  appeared  in  the  Outlook  and  are  republished  here.  {Editor's 
Note.) 

61 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

own  country  if  in  the  future  she  is  attacked  as  wantonly  as  Bel- 
gium has  been  attacked.  The  United  States  has  played  a  most 
ignoble  part  for  the  last  thirteen  months.  Our  Government  has 
declined  to  keep  its  plighted  faith,  has  declined  to  take  action  for 
justice  and  right,  as  it  was  pledged  to  take  action  under  the  Hague 
Conventions.  At  the  same  time,  it  has  refused  to  protect  its  own 
citizens;  and  it  has  refused  even  to  prepare  for  its  own  defence.  It 
has  treated  empty  rhetoric  and  adroit  phrase-making  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  deeds.  In  spite  of  our  solemn  covenant  to  see  that  the 
neutrality  of  unoffending  nations  like  Belgium  was  not  violated; 
our  solemn  covenant  to  see  that  undefended  towns  were  not  bom- 
barded, as  they  have  been  again  and  again  bombarded  in  France, 
England,  and  Belgium,  and  hundreds  of  women  and  children 
killed;  our  solemn  covenant  to  see  that  inhuman  and  cruel  meth- 
ods of  warfare  —  such  as  the  use  of  poisonous  gas  —  were  not 
used,  we  have,  in  a  spirit  of  cold,  selfish,  and  timid  disregard  of 
our  obligations  for  others,  refused  even  to  protest  against  such 
wrongdoing,  and,  with  abject  indifference  to  right,  the  profes- 
sional pacifists  have  spent  their  time  merely  in  clamoring  for  a 
peace  that  should  consecrate  successful  wrong.  What  is  even 
more  serious,  we  have  wholly  failed  to  act  effectively  when  our 
own  men,  women,  and  children  were  murdered  on  the  high  seas  by 
the  order  of  the  German  Government.  Moreover,  we  have  de- 
clined to  take  any  effective  steps  when  our  men  have  been  mur- 
dered and  our  women  raped  in  Mexico  —  and  of  all  ineffective 
steps  the  last  proposal  to  get  Bolivia  and  Guatemala  to  do  what 
we  have  not  the  manliness  to  do  was  the  most  ineffective. 

But  there  have  been  a  few  individuals  who,  acting  as  individuals 
or  in  organizations,  have  to  a  limited  extent  by  their  private  ef- 
forts made  partially  good  our  governmental  shortcomings.  The 
body  of  men  and  women  for  whom  Mr.  Andrew  speaks  is  one  of 
these  organizations.  I  earnestly  hope  that  his  appeal  will  be 
heeded  and  that  everything  possible  will  be  done  to  continue  to 
make  the  work  effective. 

Theodore  Roosevelt 


A  SMALL  field  ambulance  with  a  large  red  cross  on 
each  of  its  gray  canvas  sides  slips  quickly  down  the 
curving  cobblestone  street  of  a  quaint  old  French 
frontier  town,  and  turns  on  to  the  road  leading  to 

62 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

the  posies  de  secours  (dressing-stations)  behind  the 
trenches,  which  are  about  two  kilometres  distant. 
The  driver  is  uniformed  in  khaki,  and  is  in  striking 
contrast  to  the  hundreds  of  blue-gray-clad  soldiers 
loitering  on  the  streets.  A  group  of  little  children  cry 
out,  ''  AmSricain,''  and,  with  beaming  smiles,  one  of 
them  executes  a  rigid  though  not  very  correct  salute 
as  the  car  goes  by.  A  soldier  yells,  "Good-morning, 
sir  I"  another,  "Hello,  Charley!"  and  waves  his  hand, 
while  others  not  gifted  with  such  an  extensive 
command  of  English  content  themselves  with  ''Bon- 
jour!  "  and  "  Camarade ! "  The  little  car  spins  on  past 
companies  of  tired,  dusty  soldiers  returning  from  the 
trenches,  and  toots  to  one  side  the  fresher-looking  sec- 
tions that  are  going  up  for  their  turn.  A  sentinel 
stands  out  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  makes  fran- 
tic motions  with  his  hand  to  indicate  that  shrapnel 
is  bursting  over  the  road  ahead.  "I  should  worry," 
comes  from  the  driver,  and  the  car  speeds  serenely 
along  the  way. 

It  is  an  ambulance  of  the  Section  Sanitaire  Ameri- 
caine,  Y,  the  squad  that  has  just  been  cite  d,  Vordre 
de  rarmSe  (honorably  mentioned  in  despatches). 

The  drivers  of  these  cars  are  all  American  volun- 
teers: young  men  who,  for  the  most  part,  come  from 
prominent  families  in  the  States.  All  parts  of  the 
Union  seem  to  be  represented.  The  Sections  are  com- 
posed of  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  cars  each,  and  are 
under  the  direction  of  a  Section  commander.  While 
the  cars  are  allotted  to  the  Sections  by  the  American 

63 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Ambulance  Hospital,  directed  by  its  officers,  and  in 
part  supported  by  the  organization,  they  nevertheless 
become  an  integral  part  of  the  Sanitary  Service  of  the 
French  army,  to  which  they  are  assigned  as  soon  as 
they  enter  the  war  zone.  The  cars  and  conducteurs,  as 
the  drivers  are  called,  are  militarized,  and  all  general 
orders  come  from  the  French  medical  officers.  The 
French  Government  supplies  the  gasoline,  oil,  and 
tires,  and  the  personnel  of  the  Sections  are  housed  and 
fed  by  the  army.  They  are  given  the  same  good  food 
and  generous  ration  that  the  French  soldier  receives. 
Attached  to  each  Section  is  a  French  non-commis- 
sioned officer  who  attends  to  various  details  and  acts 
as  interpreter.  Section  Y  is  favored  by  the  addition 
of  an  army  chef,  and  the  Section  commander's  orderly 
has  been  put  in  the  general  service  of  all  the  members. 

It  is  forbidden  to  give  the  location  of  any  of  the 
active  units  of  the  French  army,  and  as  this  restric- 
tion holds  good  for  Section  Y,  which  is  at  the  very 
front,  I  cannot  give  any  details  that  would  indicate 
the  point  in  the  line  where  the  Section  is  stationed. 
I  believe  it  is  allowable  to  say  that  the  town  is  very 
old  and  possesses  a  rare  beauty.  I  have  never  seen  a 
place  that  could  boast  of  such  a  number  of  exquisite 
gardens  or  such  a  lovely  encircling  boulevard.  The 
surrounding  hilly  country  is  charming  and  pregnant 
with  the  most  romantic  historical  associations.  Its 
reputation  as  a  history-making  region  is  certainly  not 
suffering  at  the  present. 

The  Americans  are  quartered  in  a  large  building 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

that  had  not  been  occupied  since  the  mobilization  in 
August,  1914.  There  are  countless  rooms  already  fur- 
nished, and  those  on  the  first  floor  have  been  cleaned 
up  so  that  now  the  Section,  which  consists  of  twenty- 
four  men,  has  "all  the  comforts  of  home."  There  is  a 
large  mess-hall,  kitchen,  writing-room,  library,  gen- 
eral oflBce,  dormitory,  and  a  good,  generous  vaulted 
cellar  of  easy  access.  This  last  adjunct  is  important, 
for  the  town  is  one  of  the  most  frequently  bombarded 
places  in  the  line,  and  very  often  big  shells  that  wreck 
a  house  at  one  shot  make  it  advisable  to  take  to  the 
cave.  The  atelier  of  the  armurier  (armorer's  work- 
shop), with  its  collection  of  tools  and  fixtures,  now 
serves  as  a  perfect  automobile  repair  shop.  There  is 
also  running  water,  and  at  first  we  had  both  gas  and 
electric  lights;  but  shells  have  eventually  put  both 
systems  out  of  commission.  Naturally  the  telephone 
line  gets  clipped  every  few  days,  but  that  is  essential, 
and  so  it  is  quickly  repaired.  Behind  the  headquarters 
is  a  gem  of  a  garden  containing  several  species  of  roses, 
and,  as  fortune  would  have  it,  new  wicker  chairs.  At 
first  it  all  seemed  too  good  to  be  true.  It  did  not  seem 
possible  that  such  an  amazing  combination  of  com- 
forts could  exist  in  the  war  zone,  and  still  less  so  when 
one  looked  down  the  street  and  saw  the  German 
trenches  in  full  view  on  the  crest  of  a  hill  fourteen 
hundred  yards  distant,  where  at  night  rifle  flashes 
are  seen.  To  Section  Y,  that  had  hibernated  and 
drudged  along  at  Beauvais  some  thirty-five  kilo- 
metres behind  the  line  until  April,  it  was  a  realization 

65 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

of  hopes  beyond  belief.  Of  course,  as  far  as  the  com- 
forts are  concerned,  all  may  change.  Any  minute 
orders  may  arrive  that  will  shift  us,  and  then  it  may 
mean  sleeping  on  straw,  occupying  barns  or  any  avail- 
able shelter;  but  while  the  present  conditions  obtain 
we  beg  to  differ  with  Sherman! 

A  French  Motor  Ambulance  Section  had  been 
handling  the  wounded  of  the  division  to  which  our 
squad  was  attached,  and  we  at  first  supplemented 
their  work.  To  start  with,  French  orderlies  went  out 
with  the  American  drivers  on  calls  to  show  them  the 
working  of  the  system,  but  after  two  or  three  days 
the  Americans  fell  into  the  work  as  if  it  had  been  a 
life's  practice,  and,  in  spite  of  a  lack  of  conversational 
ability,  managed  to  evacuate  the  wounded  without  a 
hitch.  The  Americans  did  their  work  so  well  that 
they  obtained  the  entire  confidence  of  the  authori- 
ties, and  in  a  few  weeks  the  French  Section  was 
transferred  to  another  post.  It  speaks  very  well  for 
Section  Y  that  all  of  the  work  of  one  of  the  most 
important  points  in  the  line  was  entrusted  to  it  alone. 

In  addition  to  the  actual  carrying  of  wounded, 
there  is  a  remarkable  amount  of  detail  oflSce  work;  for 
every  report,  request,  or  order  has  to  be  made  in  trip- 
licate, and  it  keeps  the  commander  of  the  Section,  his 
assistant,  and  the  marechaux  des  logis,  supplemented 
by  a  corporal  and  telephonist,  very  busy  running  the 
business  and  executive  end.  Then,  in  addition  to  the 
proper  despatching  of  the  regular  and  special  services, 
there  are  hundreds  of  delicate  situations  to  handle: 

66 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

requests  of  the  authorities,  the  satisfying  of  numerous 
officers,  and  the  reception  of  the  various  dignitaries 
who  come  to  visit  the  much-heralded  American  Sec- 
tion. It  is  only  on  account  of  the  exceptional  ability 
and  capacity  of  our  diplomatic  commander,  "Ned" 
Salisbury,  of  Chicago,  that  the  Section  has  been  en- 
trusted with  such  vital  responsibilities  and  that  it  has 
been  able  to  perform  them  with  such  success. 

All  the  men  in  the  Section  had  been  billeted  at 
houses  in  a  town  eight  kilometres  below,  where  they 
slept  when  not  on  night  duty;  but  when  the  French 
Section  was  ordered  away,  a  number  of  the  men 
elected  to  move  up  to  the  advance  point,  and  were 
given  excellent  quarters  in  the  various  vacated  resi- 
dences of  the  town.  Why,  instead  of  just  rooms  they 
had  suites,  and  the  commander  has  an  apartment  in 
the  show  place  of  the  town  I  It  is  surrounded  by  ex- 
tensive walled  grounds  which  have  been  made  into  a 
ravishing  garden  of  flowering  shrubs  and  trees;  little 
lily-covered,  iris-bordered  lakes,  masses  of  roses,  beds 
of  poppies,  and  in  one  sylvan  nook  is  a  flower-covered 
fountain  fashioned  of  great  rough  stones  whose  tink- 
ling waters  tumble  in  glittering  cascades  between  riots 
of  vivid-colored  plants  and  dense  walls  of  variegated 
verdure.  To  see  our  commander  sitting  in  his  Louis 
XV  furnished  rooms,  which,  by  the  way,  have  an 
excellent  trench  exposure,  reminds  me  strongly  of 
those  paintings  which  depict  generals  of  1871  disport- 
ing themselves  in  the  splendor  of  a  commandeered 
chateau. 

67 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

From  all  the  foregoing  it  must  not  be  imagined 
that  Section  Y  has  a  sinecure,  or  that  strolling 
around  gardens  is  a  habit.  Far  from  it.  The  regular 
daily  service  is  arduous  enough  in  itself,  for  one  is 
either  on  duty  or  on  call  all  of  the  time;  but  there 
are  times  following  an  attack  when  the  men  rest 
neither  night  nor  day,  when  one  gets  food  only  in 
snatches,  and  frequently  days  at  a  time  will  pass 
when  one  is  on  such  continuous  service  that  there  is 
never  a  chance  to  undress.  Then  there  is  the  other 
aspect,  the  ever-present  danger  of  being  killed  or 
wounded  that  one  is  under  at  the  front,  for  Section 
Y  works  and  lives  in  a  heavily  shelled  area.  But 
we  will  not  talk  of  that,  for  it  is  unwise  to  think  of 
such  a  thing  when  facing  it.  There  are  times,  how- 
ever, when  one  is  forcibly  reminded,  and  when  it 
takes  a  great  amount  of  will  power  to  remain  calm 
and  perform  one's  duty. 

The  mention  of  shell  fire  to  one  who  has  never 
experienced  it  brings  to  mind,  in  a  vague  sort  of  way, 
an  association  with  danger,  but  that  is  all.  To  us 
who  have  seen  its  effects  —  the  hideously  mangled 
killed  and  wounded,  the  agonized  expressions  and 
streams  of  fast-flowing  blood,  the  crumbling  of  solid 
houses  into  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust;  to  us  who  hear 
the  terrible  tearing,  snarling,  deep  roar  of  great  shells 
as  they  hurtle  down  the  air-lanes  towards  us  to  de- 
tonate with  a  murderous,  ear-splitting  crash,  flinging 
their  jagged  eclats  for  a  half-mile  in  all  directions, 
and  sometimes  killing  French  comrades  near  us;  to 

68 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

us  who  live  and  work  within  shell  range,  not  knowing 
when  we  too  may  be  annihilated  or  maimed  for  life, 
it  seems  a  very  real  and  terrible  menace,  and  for  that 
reason  to  be  banished  from  our  thoughts. 

In  spite  of  the  danger,  the  Americans  render  their 
service  with  fidelity  at  any  and  all  times.  A  French 
captain  once  remarked  that,  no  matter  how  much  the 
town  was  being  shelled,  the  little  field  ambulances 
could  be  seen  slipping  down  the  streets,  past  corners, 
or  across  the  square  on  their  way  to  and  from  posies 
de  secours  back  of  the  trenches.  I  remember  one  day 
that  was  especially  a  test  of  the  men.  The  town  was 
being  shelled,  and  it  happened  that  at  the  same  time 
there  were  many  calls  for  cars.  The  Germans  were 
paying  particular  attention  to  the  immediate  sur- 
roundings of  the  headquarters,  and  the  shells  were 
not  falling  by  any  time-table  known  to  us.  A  call 
came  in,  and  the  '*next  man  "was  handed  his  orders. 
He  waited  until  a  shell  burst  and  then  made  a  run  for 
it.  Several  cars  had  been  out  on  calls  and  were  due 
to  return.  There  was  no  way  of  giving  them  a  warn- 
ing. We  heard  the  purr  of  a  motor,  and  almost  im- 
mediately the  sing  of  a  shell  very  close  to  us.  There 
was  an  instant  of  anxiety,  an  explosion,  and  then  we 
were  relieved  to  see  the  car  draw  up  in  line,  the  driver 
switch  off  his  motor  and  run  for  our  entrance.  He 
held  his  order  card  in  front  of  him  as  he  ran.  Just 
as  he  entered  another  shell  hit  near  by.  It  reminded 
me  strongly  of  a  scene  in  a  "ten-twenty-thirty"  mar- 
tial play.  All  the  hero  needed  was  some  fuller's  earth 

69 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

to  pat  off  his  shoulders  when  he  came  inside.  There 
were  several  entrances  of  this  sort  during  the  after- 
noon, and  one  shell,  landing  just  in  front  of  us  and 
nearly  on  top  of  a  passing  motor  lorry,  resulted  in 
the  addition  of  the  French  driver  and  his  aid  to  our 
little  wall-protected  group.  It  was  a  day  when  the 
shelling  seemed  to  be  general,  for  shrapnel  and  small 
77  shells  were  also  bursting  at  intervals  over  and  in 
a  little  town  one  passes  through  in  order  to  avoid 
a  more  heavily  bombarded  outer  route  on  the  way 
to  the  posies  de  secours.  It  was  magnificent  descend- 
ing the  hill  from  the  pastes  that  afternoon.  To  the 
left  French  75  shells  were  in  rapid  action;  and  one 
could  see  the  explosion  of  the  German  shells  just 
over  the  crest  of  the  long  ridge  where  the  batteries 
were  firing.  It  was  a  clear,  sparkling  day,  and  against 
the  vivid  green  of  the  hills,  across  the  winding  river, 
the  little  white  puffs  of  shrapnel  exploding  over  the 
road  below  were  in  perfect  relief,  while  from  the  red- 
tiled  roofs  of  the  town,  nestling  in  the  valley  below, 
tall  columns  of  black  smoke  spurted  up  where  the 
large  shells  struck.  Little  groups  of  soldiers,  the 
color  of  whose  uniforms  added  greatly  to  the  picture, 
were  crowded  against  the  low  stone  walls  lining  the 
road  to  observe  the  firing;  and  one  sensed  the  action 
and  felt  the  real  excitement  of  the  sort  of  war  one 
imagines  instead  of  the  uninteresting  horror  of  the 
cave-dweller  combats  that  are  the  rule  in  this  war. 
It  is  difficult  to  take  any  one  day's  work  and 
describe  it  in  the  attempt  to  give  an  adequate  pic- 

70 


SHELLS   BREAKING   ON  THE   CUTE  DE   MOUSSON 


WATCHING  AN  AEROPLANE  DUEL  IN  PONT-A-MOUSSON 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

ture  of  the  routine  of  the  American  Section,  for  with 
us  all  days  are  so  different.  The  background  or 
framework,  the  schedule  of  runs,  the  points  of  calling, 
the  ordinary  duties,  are  more  or  less  the  same;  but 
the  action  and  experiences,  which  add  the  color,  are 
never  alike.  There  are  days  at  a  stretch  when  the 
work  might  be  called  monotonous,  were  it  not  for 
the  fact  that  there  is  a  continual  source  of  pleasure 
in  feeling  that  one  is  being  of  service  to  France,  and 
that  one's  time  is  being  spent  in  relieving  the  suffer- 
ing of  her  brave  wounded  soldiers. 

Six-thirty  is  the  time  for  bread  and  coffee,  and  the 
long  table  in  the  flag-decorated  mess-room  begins 
to  fill.  Mignot,  our  comrade  orderly,  is  rushing  to 
and  fro  placing  bowls  in  front  of  those  arriving,  and 
practising  on  each  the  few  English  expressions  he 
has  picked  up  by  association  with  us.  Two  men  of 
the  Section  enter  who  look  very  tired.  They  throw 
their  caps  or  fatigue  hats  on  to  a  side  table  and  call 
for  Mignot.   They  have  been  on  all-night  service  at 

M ,  the  hamlet  where  the  most  active  posies  de 

secours  are  located. 

"Much  doing  last  night?"  asks  one  of  the  crowd 
at  the  table. 

"Not  much.  Had  only  sixteen  altogether." 

"Anything  stirring?" 

"Yes;  Fritz  eased  in  a  few  shrapnel  about  five- 
thirty,  but  did  n't  hurt  any  one.  You  know  the  last 
house  down  on  the  right-hand  side?  Well,  they 
smeared  that  with  a  shell  during  the  night." 

71 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

"By  the  way,"  continues  the  man  in  from  night 
service,  addressing  himself  to  one  across  the  table, 
"  Canot,  the  artilleryman,  was  looking  for  you.  Says 
he 's  got  a  ring  for  you  made  out  of  a  Boche  fuse-cap, 
and  wants  to  know  if  you  want  a  Geneva  or  Lorraine 
cross  engraved  on  it." 

The  men  in  the  Section  leave  the  room  one  by  one 
to  take  up  their  various  duties.  There  are  some 
whose  duty  it  is  to  stay  in  reserve,  and  these  go  out 
to  work  on  their  cars.  Others  are  on  bureau  service, 
and  they  remain  within  call  of  the  telephone.   Two 

leave  for  D ,  a  town  eight  kilometres  below, 

where  their  job  is  to  evacuate  from  the  two  hospitals 
where  the  wounded  have  been  carried  down  the  day 
and  night  before.  This  town,  too,  suffers  an  occa- 
sional bombardment,  and  wounded  are  left  there 
no  longer  than  necessary.  They  are  taken  to  a  sani- 
tary train  which  runs  to  a  little  village  a  few  kilo- 
metres below,  which  is  just  beyond  the  limit  of  shell 
fire. 

Sometimes  our  cars  are  called  upon  to  evacuate 

to  X ,  which  is  a  good  many  kilometres  distant. 

The  splendid  road  runs  through  a  most  charming 
part  of  the  country.  Just  now  everything  is  in  bloom, 
and  the  gentle  undulating  sweep  of  highly  cultivated 
fields  is  delineated  by  plots  of  yellow  mustard  plants, 
mellow  brown  tilled  earth,  and  countless  shades  of 
refreshing  green,  while  near  the  tree-bordered  road 
one  can  see  stretches  of  waving  wheat  dotted  with 
the  flaming  red  of  poppies  and  the  delicate  blue  of 

72 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

little  field  flowers.  On  those  trips  it  does  not  seem 
possible  that  war  is  near;  but  on  high,  sharply  out- 
lined against  the  deep-blue  sky,  is  a  sausage-shape 
observation  balloon,  and  looking  back  through  a 
little  window  in  the  car  one  sees  the  bandaged  and 
prostrate  figures  of  the  wounded  occupants. 

There  are  only  two  cars  on  service  at  M during 

the  usual  run  of  days,  for  unless  there  is  an  attack 
comparatively  few  wounded  are  brought  down  from 
the  trenches  to  their  respective  regimental  posies  de 
secours  in  the  village. 

Down  the  single,  long  street  of  this  town,  which 
had  been  changed  from  a  quiet  country  hamlet  to 
a  military  cantonment,  strolls  a  motley  collection  of 
seasoned  soldiers.  The  majority  are  uniformed  in 
the  newly  adopted  light  bluish-gray;  some  few  still 
carry  the  familiar  baggy  red  trousers,  black  anklets, 
and  long,  dark-blue  coat  with  conspicuous  brass 
buttons.  The  sapeurs  and  artillerymen  wear  dull 
green-and-yellow  splotched  dusters  that  make  them 
almost  invisible  in  the  woods  and  impart  the  most 
striking  war-working  appearance  to  them.  There  is 
the  cavalryman  in  his  light-blue  tunic  with  pinkish 
trimmings,  and  his  campaign  cloth-covered  helmet, 
from  the  crest  of  which  flows  a  horse-tail  plume. 
Here  and  there  are  the  smartly  dressed  ofiicers  with 
their  variously  colored  uniforms  designating  their 
branch;  but  their  gold  galloons  of  rank  do  not  show 
conspicuously  on  their  sleeves  now,  and  the  braid  on 
their  caps  is  covered.  Some  wear  the  splotched  duster 

73 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

which  hides  their  identity  entirely,  and  others  are 
dressed  in  serviceable  thin  brown  uniforms  which 
bear  hardly  any  insignia.  In  front  of  four  or  five  of 
the  low  masonry  houses  a  Red  Cross  flag  is  hung. 
These  mark  the  pastes  de  secours  where  the  wounded 
are  bandaged  and  given  to  the  ambulances.  An 
American  car  is  backed  up  in  front  of  one,  and  the 
khaki-clad  driver  is  the  centre  of  interest  for  a  group 
of  soldiers.  Some  he  knows  well,  and  he  is  carrying 
on  a  cheerful  conversation.  It  is  surprising  what  a 
number  of  French  soldiers  speak  English;  and  there 
are  hundreds  who  have  lived  in  England  and  in  the 
States.  Some  are  even  American  citizens,  who  have 
returned  to  fight  for  la  belle  France,  their  mother 
country.  I  have  met  waiters  from  the  Cafe  Lafayette, 
chefs  from  Fifth  Avenue  hotels,  men  who  worked  in 
New  York  and  Chicago  banks,  in  commission  houses, 
who  own  farms  in  the  West,  and  some  who  had  taken 
up  their  residence  in  American  cities  to  live  on  their 
incomes.  It  seems  very  funny  to  be  greeted  with  a 
"Hello  there,  old  scout!"  by  French  soldiers. 

"Well,  when  did  you  come  over?"  asks  the  driver. 

"In  August.  Been  through  the  whole  thing." 

"Where  were  you  in  the  States?" 

"New  York,  and  I  am  going  back  when  it  is  over. 
Got  to  beat  it  now.   So  long.  See  you  later." 

A  few  companies  of  soldiers  go  leisurely  past  on 
their  way  up  to  the  trenches,  and  nearly  every  man 
has  something  to  say  to  the  American  driver.  Five 
out  of  ten  will  point  to  the  ambulance  and  cry  out 

74 


^1  infill  i^^V;^a^       -^^v.^^^.^ 


^^1 


f^i^i 


f£ 


\ 


^^<^ 


IN  FRONT  OF   A   "  POSTE  DE   SECOURS 


AN   AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  DRIVER 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

with  questionable  but  certainly  cheerful  enough  hu- 
mor, "Save  a  place  for  me  to-morrow!"  or,  "Be  sure 
and  give  me  a  quick  ride!"  Others  yell  out  greet- 
ings, or  air  their  knowledge  of  English.  "Hello, 
Charley!"  heads  the  list  in  that  department,  and 
"Engleesh  spoken"  runs  a  close  second.  Some  of  the 
newly  arrived  soldiers  take  us  for  English,  and  ''Cam- 
arade  anglais^'  is  in  vogue;  but  with  old  acquaint- 
ances ''Camarade  americain,"  cried  in  a  very  sin- 
cere tone  and  followed  by  a  grip  of  the  hand,  has  a 
very  warm  friendship  about  it.  Yes,  you  make  good 
friends  that  way.  Working  along  together  in  this 
war  brings  men  very  close.  You  find  some  delightful 
chaps,  and  then  .  .  .  well,  sometimes  you  realize  you 
have  not  seen  a  certain  one  for  a  week  or  so,  and  you 
inquire  after  him  from  a  man  in  his  company. 

"Where  is  Bosker,  or  Busker  ?  —  I  don't  know  how 
you  pronounce  it.  You  know,  tall  fellow  with  cor- 
poral's galloons  who  was  always  talking  about  what 
a  good  time  he  was  going  to  have  when  he  got  back 
to  Paris." 

"He  got  killed  in  the  attack  two  nights  ago,"  re- 
plies the  man  you  have  asked. 

And  you  wonder  how  it  happened  exactly,  and 
what  he  looks  like  dead. 

Some  days  it  is  very  quiet  up  there  at  the  posies 
de  secours  —  even  the  artillery  to  the  rear  is  not  firing 
overhead;  and  at  other  times  it  is  rather  lively.  Sol- 
diers will  be  sauntering  up  and  down  the  long  street, 
collecting  in  groups,  or  puttering  around  at  some 

75 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

task,  when  suddenly  there  is  a  short,  sharp,  whis- 
tling sound  overhead  and  a  loud  detonation  as  the 
well-timed  shrapnel  explodes.  The  aggregation  does 
a  turning  movement  that  for  unison  of  motion  could 
not  be  excelled,  and  packs  against  the  houses  on 
the  lee  side  of  the  street.  There  are  some  who  do  not 
bother  about  such  a  comparatively  small  thing  as 
shrapnel,  and  keep  to  their  course  or  occupation.  I 
have  seen  men  continue  to  sweep  the  street,  or  keep 
going  to  where  they  were  heading,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  shrapnel  whistled  in  at  frequent  intervals.  I 
have  also  seen  some  of  these  immovable  individuals 
crumple  up  and  be  still. 

One  evening  the  firing  was  so  heavy  that  every 
one  had  sought  the  protection  of  the  walls,  when 
down  the  street  came  a  most  gloriously  happy  sol- 
dier. He  was  taking  on  up  the  street  carrying  a 
bottle,  and  at  every  explosion  he  waved  his  free  arm 
and  a  wild  yell  of  delight  issued  from  his  beaming 
face.  It  appeared  to  entertain  him  hugely,  as  if  a 
special  fireworks  exhibition  had  been  arranged  on 
his  behalf.  It  always  seems  to  be  that  way.  A  sober 
man  would  have  been  killed  on  the  spot. 

With  shells  it  is  a  very  different  story  than  with 
shrapnel.  One  can  avoid  the  latter  by  backing  up 
against  a  house,  but  the  shells  are  apt  to  push  it 
over  on  you.  When  the  deeper,  heavier  whistle  of  a 
shell  is  heard,  it  sounds  a  good  deal  like  tearing  a  big 
sheet  of  cloth.  Men  do  not  brave  it.  They  know  its 
hideous  effects,  and  take  to  the  nearest  cellar  or  door- 

76 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

way.  The  first  one  or  two  that  come  in,  if  well  placed, 
often  claim  victims.  A  group  of  soldiers  will  be  talk- 
ing or  playing  cards  in  front  of  a  house.  There  is  a 
swish;  the  shell  hits  the  hard  road  in  front  of  them, 
and  the  jagged  eclats  rip  into  the  little  crowd,  some- 
times killing  three  or  four  of  them.  The  soldiers  who 
find  themselves  at  a  greater  distance  have  time  to 
throw  themselves  flat  on  the  ground,  and  it  is  seldom 
that  the  singing  fragments  do  not  pass  well  over- 
head. 

It  is  quite  remarkable  that  none  of  the  Americans 

have  as  yet  been  hurt  at  X ,  for  the  evacuation 

of  the  wounded  goes  on  regardless  of  the  shelling. 
Often  the  escapes  have  been  very  close.  Just  yes- 
terday ten  big  shells  came  in,  killed  six  men  and 
wounded  forty  others,  and  yet  our  two  cars  on  duty 
there  escaped  without  being  hit.  One  day,  following 
an  attack,  the  firing  was  rather  frequent.  Nearly  all 
of  the  ambulances  were  lined  up  in  the  village  wait- 
ing for  the  wounded  to  be  brought  down.  Our  com- 
mander was  talking  to  one  of  his  drivers  when  a  shell 
exploded  on  the  other  side  of  a  wall  behind  him.  He 
walked  down  the  street  to  give  instructions  to  an- 
other man.  A  shell  hit  the  roof  of  a  house  there  and 
covered  the  two  with  debris.  He  started  to  return, 
and  as  he  passed  a  certain  house  a  shell  went  right 
into  it.  They  seemed  to  be  following  him.  It  fre- 
quently happens  that  an  ambulance  will  be  running 
down  the  street  and  a  shell  hit  a  house  just  behind 
or  in  front  of  its  course.  Now  and  then  one's  breath 

77 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

will  stop  when  a  car  is  enveloped  in  the  clouds  of 
dust  and  debris  coming  from  a  shell-hit  house,  and 
start  again  when  from  the  haze  the  driver  emerges 
dirty  but  smiling.  Of  course,  the  cars  have  been  hit. 
A  shell  tore  off  the  front  top  of  one  ten  inches  from 
the  driver's  head,  but  as  yet  no  member  of  the  Ameri- 
can Section  has  been  hurt. 

A  kilometre  up  the  climbing,  winding  road  is  a 
lone  poste  de  secours  in  the  woods  just  off  the  high- 
way. The  approach  and  the  place  itself  are  often 
shelled.  There  have  been  times  when  the  drivers 
were  under  a  seriously  heavy  fire  on  night  duty; 
times  when  trees  have  been  shattered  and  fallen 
across  the  road  and  huge  craters  made  in  the  soft 
earth  of  the  adjacent  fields.  A  kilometre  beyond  is 
still  another  point  of  call,  and  from  there  one  can 
look  directly  into  one  of  the  most  fought-over  sec- 
tions of  ground  in  the  long  line  from  the  sea  to  Bel- 
fort.  It  is  a  bit  of  land  that  before  the  war  was  cov- 
ered with  a  magnificent  forest.  Now  it  is  a  wilderness 
whose  desolation  is  beyond  description.  It  is  a  sec- 
tion of  murdered  nature.  The  black,  shattered  things 
sticking  up  out  of  a  sea  of  mounds  were  at  one  time 
great  trees.  There  are  no  branches  on  the  split  trunks 
now.  No  green  can  be  seen  anywhere.  Where  the 
trenches  ran  there  are  but  series  of  indentations, 
jumbles  of  splintered  trench  timbers,  broken  guns, 
rusty  fragments  of  shells,  strips  of  uniforms  and  caps, 
shoes  with  a  putrid,  maggot-eaten  mass  inside.  It 
does  not  seem  possible  that  life  could  ever  have  been 

78 


\'- 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  BOIS-LE-PRETRE 


FONTAINE  DU  PERE  HILARION,  A   SPRING  IN  BOIS-LE-PRETRE   WHERE 

FRENCH   AND   GERMAN   SOLDIERS   FRATERNIZED  IN 

THE   EARLY  DAYS   OF   THE  WAR 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE^ 

there.  It  looks  as  if  it  had  always  been  dead.  What 
testimony  to  human  habitation  remains  is  but  mute 
and  buried  wreckage. 

This  last  poste  de  secours  is  in  the  very  line  of  fire, 
but  then  there  are  bomb-proofs  near  by  and  one  can 
find  shelter.  One  must  be  careful  running  up  to  this 
postey  for  new  and  very  deep  holes  are  continually 
being  blown  in  the  road  and  there  is  danger  of  wreck- 
ing the  cars. 

Section  Y  has  performed  its  duties  so  well  that 
the  work  of  an  adjacent  division  has  been  given  to 
it,  and  in  a  few  days  now  the  little  cars  will  roll  past 
the  last-mentioned  poste  de  secours  over  to  the  ex- 
posed plain  beyond  and  into  the  zone  of  its  newly 
acquired  activities. 

The  American  cars  literally  infest  the  roads  in  the 
day.  They  buzz  along  on  calls  to  the  postes,  return 
from  evacuations,  and  keep  so  busy  trying  to  accel- 
erate the  work  that  a  casual  observer  might  imagine 
that  a  whole  division  had  been  annihilated  overnight. 
A  car  with  three  stretcher-cases  in  the  back,  a  slightly 
wounded  soldier  sitting  on  the  seat  next  to  the  driver, 
and  a  load  of  knapsacks  piled  between  the  hood  and 
the  fenders,  starts  down  from  the  poste  de  secours, 
spins  on  through  a  village  full  of  resting  troops,  and 
turns  on  to  the  highway  leading  to  the  evacuation 
hospitals  at  the  town  eight  kilometres  below.  At 
first  the  holes  in  the  walls  and  houses  alorg  the  way, 
and  the  craters  in  the  fields  where  the  marmites  had 
struck,  made  one  continually  conscious  of  the  possi- 

79 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

bility  of  a  shell.  Now  one  does  not  think  about  it, 
save  to  note  the  new  holes,  observe  that  the  older 
ones  have  been  cemented  up,  and  to  hope  that  an  6clat 
won't  hit  you  at  those  exceedingly  rare  times  when 
a  shell  bursts  ahead  or  behind.  The  closest  call  so  far 
on  that  stretch  of  road  was  when  a  210  hit  eleven 
feet  to  the  side  of  one  of  our  cars,  but  failed  to  ex- 
plode. Of  course  there  is  a  chance  that  even  at  that 
distance  the  eclat  might  take  a  peculiar  course  and 
miss  one;  but  the  chances  are  that  if  that  shell  had 
gone  off  one  of  our  men  would  have  been  minus  sev- 
eral necessary  portions  of  his  anatomy. 

The  work  at  night  is  quite  eerie,  and  on  moonless 
nights  quite  difficult.  No  lights  are  allowed,  and  the 
inky  black  way  ahead  seems  packed  with  a  discord- 
ant jumble  of  sounds  as  the  never-ending  artillery 
and  ravitaillement  trains  rattle  along.  One  creeps 
past  convoy  after  convoy,  past  sentinels  who  cry, 
"Halte  W  and  then  whisper  an  apologetic  ^^Passez" 
when  they  make  out  the  ambulance;  and  it  is  only 
in  the  dazzling  light  of  the  illuminating  rockets  that 
shoot  into  the  air  and  sink  slowly  over  the  trenches 
that  one  can  see  to  proceed  with  any  speed. 

It  is  at  night,  too,  that  our  hardest  work  comes, 
for  that  is  usually  the  time  when  attacks  and  counter- 
attacks are  made  and  great  numbers  of  men  are 
wounded.  Sometimes  all  twenty  of  the  Section  cars 
will  be  in  service.  It  is  then  that  one  sees  the  most 
frightfully  wounded:  the  men  with  legs  and  arms 
shot  away,  mangled  faces,  and  hideous  body  wounds. 

80 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

It  is  a  time  when  men  die  in  the  ambulances  before 
they  reach  the  hospitals,  and  I  believe  nearly  every 
driver  in  the  Section  has  had  at  least  one  distressing 
experience  of  that  sort. 

Early  one  morning  there  was  an  urgent  call  for  a 
single  wounded.  The  man's  comrades  gathered 
around  the  little  car  to  bid  their  friend  good-bye.  He 
was  terribly  wounded  and  going  fast.  "See,"  said  one 
of  them  to  the  man  on  the  stretcher,  "you  are  going 
in  an  American  car.  You  will  have  a  good  trip,  old 
fellow,  and  get  well  soon.  Good-bye  and  good  luck  I" 
They  forced  a  certain  cheerfulness,  but  their  voices 
were  low  and  dry,  for  they  saw  death  creeping  into  the 
face  of  their  comrade.  The  driver  took  his  seat  and 
was  starting  when  he  was  asked  to  wait.  "Something 
for  him,"  they  said.  When  the  car  arrived  at  the  hos- 
pital, the  man  was  dead.  He  was  cold  and  must  have 
died  at  the  start  of  the  trip.  The  driver  regretted  the 
delay  in  leaving.  Why  had  they  asked  him  to  wait.? 
Then  he  saw  that  the  ambulance  was  covered  with 
sprigs  of  lilac  and  little  yellow  field  flowers.  The  men 
knew  the  car  would  serve  as  a  hearse. 

Once  an  American  ambulance  was  really  pressed 
into  service  as  a  hearse  in  a  very  touching  funeral.  A 
young  lieutenant,  the  son  of  a  prominent  and  influ- 
ential oflScial,  had  been  killed  in  a  gaflant  action.  The 
family  had  been  granted  permission  to  enter  the  lines 
and  attend  the  funeral.  The  young  oflScer,  who  but  a 
few  days  before  his  death  had  won  his  commission, 
was  held  in  the  deepest  affection  by  his  company,  and 

81 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

they  arranged  that,  as  something  very  special,  he 
should  have  a  hearse.  A  car  from  Section  "Y"  was 
offered,  and  went  to  the  church  in  the  hamlet  back  of 
the  trenches.  The  soldiers  literally  covered  the  am- 
bulance with  flowers  and  branches,  and  then  stood 
waiting  with  the  great  wreaths  they  had  brought  in 
their  hands.  The  little  group  emerged  from  the  partly 
wrecked  church,  and  the  flag-covered  coflBn  was  slid 
into  the  car.  The  cortege,  headed  by  a  white-robed 
priest  and  two  censer  boys,  wound  slowly  down  the 
tortuous  path  that  the  troops  follow  on  their  way  to 
the  trenches. 

The  mother  was  supported  by  the  father,  a  vener- 
able soldier  of  1870,  who  limped  haltingly  on  his 
wooden  leg.  Back  of  the  two  came  the  lieutenant's 
sister,  a  beautiful  girl  just  entering  her  twenties.  The 
captain  of  the  company  was  at  her  side,  then  followed 
other  officers,  and  the  silent,  trench-worn  soldiers  be- 
hind. The  funeral  halted  on  the  hillside  near  a  grave 
dug  beneath  the  branches  of  a  budding  apple  tree. 
The  coffin  was  pulled  from  the  ambulance  and  low- 
ered into  the  grave.  And  the  mother  knelt  at  the 
side,  sobbing.  The  old  father,  who  struggled  to  sup- 
press his  emotion,  began  a  little  oration.  His  voice 
trembled,  and  when  at  intervals  he  tried  to  say,  "  Vive 
la  France! "  it  broke  and  great  tears  ran  down  his  face. 
The  soldiers,  too,  were  crying,  and  the  American's 
eyes  were  damp.  Behind,  a  battery  of  75's  was  firing 
—  for  on  no  account  must  the  grim  details  of  the  war 
be  halted  —  and  at  every  deafening  shot  and  swish  of 

82 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

the  shell  tearing  overhead  the  girl  shivered,  huddled 
close  to  the  captain,  and  looked  in  a  frightened  way 
at  the  soldiers  around  her.  In  her  small,  thin  shoes 
and  black  wavy  dress  she  seemed  strangely  out  of 
place  in  those  military  surroundings. 

The  Americans  have  a  faculty  of  adapting  them- 
selves to  any  service  they  may  be  called  upon  to  per- 
form, and  many  times  they  undertake  on  their  own 
initiative  various  missions  that  are  not  in  exact  ac- 
cord with  their  military  duties.  They  very  often  trans- 
port dead  civilians  after  a  bombardment.  Though 
nearly  every  one  takes  to  the  caves  when  a  bombard- 
ment starts,  the  first  shells  that  come  in  frequently 
kill  a  number  of  people  who  have  not  had  time  to  get 
to  shelter.  In  the  past  few  weeks  nearly  all  the  civil- 
ians have  left  the  dangerous  town,  and  it  is  seldom 
now  that  soldiers  and  the  residents  —  men,  women, 
and  children  —  are  found  mixed  up  in  pitiful  dead 
groups. 

During  one  bombardment,  some  time  ago,  however, 
a  considerable  number  of  women  and  children  were 
killed.  A  couple  of  the  American  ambulances  were  on 
the  spot  immediately  after,  and  the  men  were  silently 
going  about  their  sad  work.  The  little  children  who 
cry  out  to  us  as  we  pass  were  gathered  around  hold- 
ing to  their  mothers'  trembling  hands.  They  said, 
'' Americain"  when  they  saw  the  khaki  uniforms, 
but  their  tone  was  hushed  and  sad  instead  of  loud  and 
joyous,  and  had  a  surprised  note,  as  if  they  had  not 
expected  to  see  the  Americans  at  such  a  task. 

83 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

In  one  place  a  large  crowd  of  people  had  gathered 
around  an  ambulance  in  front  of  a  baker's  shop.  In 
the  upper  part  of  the  building  was  a  great  irregular 
hole  that  included  a  portion  of  the  roof,  and  inside  the 
freshly  exposed  stone  rims  the  interior  of  a  room  with 
shattered  furniture  could  be  seen.  Below  the  huge 
rent  on  the  gray  face  of  the  building  was  the  fan- 
shaped  design  made  by  the  shell's  eclats.  On  the  side- 
walk were  the  bodies  of  two  women  and  a  soldier.  A 
vivid  red  pool  had  formed  around  them  and  was  flow- 
ing into  the  gutter.  For  some  reason  the  gray  dust 
covering  the  motionless  black  dresses  of  the  women 
seemed  to  make  the  picture  very  much  more  terrible. 
The  face  of  one  of  the  women  had  been  torn  away, 
but  her  hair  and  one  eye,  which  had  a  look  of  wild 
fear  glazed  in  it,  remained.  As  the  stretcher  the  wo- 
man had  been  placed  on  was  carried  to  the  car  a  yel- 
low comb  fell  out  of  her  bloody  hair  and  dropped  on 
the  white-shod  foot  of  a  young  girl  standing  near. 
The  child  pulled  up  her  skirts  with  a  disgusted  look 
and  kicked  the  comb  off  into  the  street. 

It  took  the  Americans  a  long  time  to  learn  the  value 
of  prudence.  At  first  during  the  bombardments  they 
would  rush  to  the  street  as  soon  as  a  shell  landed  and 
look  to  see  what  damage  had  been  done.  Then,  when 
some  iclats  had  sizzed  uncomfortably  close  to  their 
persons,  they  became  a  little  more  discreet  and  waited 
a  while  before  venturing  out.  Ten  days  ago,  during  a 
bombardment  with  the  large  210  shells,  a  few  of  the 
Americans  were  gathered  at  the  entrance  to  the  court- 

84 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

yard  of  our  headquarters  to  observe  the  shells  hitting 
in  town.  It  was  all  very  well  until  quite  unexpectedly 
one  hit  the  eaves  of  the  building  at  a  point  about 
thirty  yards  from  the  group  and  carried  away  with 
its  explosion  about  twenty  feet  of  that  part  of  the 
structure.  Fortunately,  the  eclat  took  a  high  course, 
but  great  building  stones  crashed  down  and  blocked 
the  roadway.  The  Americans  were  unharmed  save  for 
a  thick  coating  of  mortar  dust,  but  that  experience  has 
discounted  the  popularity  of  orchestra  seats  during 
an  exhibition  in  which  shells  larger  than  77's  appear. 

One  of  the  men  was  twenty-five  yards  from  a  210 
high-explosive  projectile  when  it  carved  a  great  crater 
in  the  ground  and  killed  two  French  Red  Cross  men 
near  him,  and  he,  for  one,  has  no  overpowering  desire, 
after  that  murderous,  crushing,  breath-taking  explo- 
sion, for  any  intimate  personal  research  work  into  the 
effects  of  other  large-calibre  shells. 

Even  now  the  members  of  Section  Y  have  much 
to  learn.  They  still  persist  in  remaining  in  their 
chairs  in  the  exposed  garden  when  aeroplanes  are  be- 
ing fired  at  directly  overhead,  when  balls  of  shrapnel 
have  repeatedly  dropped  into  the  flower-beds,  and 
when  one  man  was  narrowly  missed  by  a  long,  razor- 
edged  fragment  of  a  shrapnel  shell.  And  this  has  not 
even  the  excuse  of  a  desire  to  observe  —  for  the 
novelty  of  these  performances  has  long  since  passed 
—  and  one  hardly  ever  glances  upward.  They  won't 
even  move  for  a  German  Taube,  though  it  might  at 
any  minute  drop  a  bomb  or  two.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 

85 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

however,  explosives  dropped  from  German  machines 
are  comparatively  harmless. 

When  a  certain  great  stone  structure  on  the  water's 
edge  is  being  shelled,  the  men  off  duty  adjourn  to  the 
shore  for  the  entertainment.  They  know  the  various 
schedules  the  shells  run  on,  and  time  their  arrival. 
The  German  guns  firing  them  are  so  far  off  that  the 
report  cannot  be  heard.  There  is  a  deep,  bass,  tearing 
roar,  closely  followed  by  another,  for  they  come  in 
pairs;  then  two  huge  columns  of  water  hurtle  into  the 
air  for  a  hundred  feet,  accompanied  by  two  heavy 
detonations.  The  bleacher-occupying  Americans  — 
they  have  installed  a  bench  to  sit  on  —  then  jump  up 
and  scurry  for  a  wall  that  affords  protection  against 
the  Sclats  that  sing  back  from  the  shells.  In  a  second 
there  is  a  rush  for  the  hot  chunks  of  metal,  while  the 
natives  emerge  from  their  shelters  to  collect  the  fish 
that  have  been  killed  by  the  terrific  concussion  —  and 
fish  d  la  bombardement  is  served  to  us  the  next  day  I 

For  some  reason  or  other  the  German  prisoners  — 
and  the  Lord  knows  there  are  enough  of  them  these 
days  —  still  remain  a  subject  of  humorous  interest  to 
the  Americans,  while  the  Bodies,  as  the  Germans  are 
called,  stare  at  us  in  wild-eyed  amazement,  flavored 
with  considerable  venom,  thinking  us  British  and 
wondering  how  we  got  so  far  down  the  line. 

No  matter  how  long  the  war  lasts,  I  do  not  believe 
that  the  members  of  Section  Y  will  lose  any  of 
their  native  ways,  attitudes,  or  tastes.  They  will  re- 
main just  as  American  as  ever.  Why,  they  still  fight 

86 


THE  SECTION  IN  LORRAINE 

for  a  can  of  American  tobacco  or  a  box  of  cigarettes 
that  comes  from  the  States,  when  such  a  rare  and  ap- 
preciated article  does  turn  up,  and  papers  and  maga- 
zines from  home  are  sure  to  go  the  rounds,  finding 
themselves  at  length  in  the  hands  of  English-reading 
soldiers  in  the  trenches.  I  never  could  understand  the 
intense  grip  that  the  game  of  baseball  seems  to  pos- 
sess, but  it  holds  to  some  members  of  the  Section  with 
a  cruel  pertinacity.  One  very  dark  night,  a  few  days 
ago,  two  of  us  were  waiting  at  an  advanced  poste  de 
secours.  The  rifle  and  artillery  fire  was  constant,  illu- 
minating rockets  shot  into  the  air,  and  now  and  then 
one  could  distinguish  the  heavy  dull  roar  of  a  mine 
or  torpille  detonating  in  the  trenches.  War  in  all  its 
engrossing  detail  was  very  close.  Suddenly  my  friend 
turned  to  me  and,  with  a  sigh,  remarked,  "  Gee  1 1  wish 
I  knew  how  the  Red  Sox  were  making  out  I" 

Well,  there  may  be  more  interesting  things  in  the 
future  to  write  of  the  Americans  serving  at  the  front, 
and,  again,  their  work  may  become  dull.  But  it 
makes  no  difference  to  the  Section.  The  men  will  do 
what  is  asked  and  gladly,  for  there  is  no  work  more 
worth  while  than  helping  in  some  way,  no  matter 
what,  this  noblest  of  all  causes.  One  does  not  look  for 
thanks  —  there  is  a  reward  enough  in  the  satisfac- 
tion the  work  gives;  but  the  French  do  not  let  it  stop 
at  that.  The  men  from  the  trenches  are  surprised 
that  we  have  voluntarily  undertaken  such  a  hazard- 
ous occupation,  and  express  their  appreciation  and 
gratitude  with  almost  embarrassing  frequency.  "You 

87 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

render  a  great  service,"  say  the  officers,  and  those  of 
highest  rank  call  to  render  thanks  in  the  name  of 
France.  It  is  good  to  feel  that  one's  endeavors  are 
appreciated,  and  encouraging  to  hear  the  words  of 
praise;  but  when,  at  the  end  of  an  evacuation,  one 
draws  a  stretcher  from  the  car,  and  the  poor  wounded 
man  lying  upon  it,  who  has  never  allowed  a  groan  to 
escape  during  a  ride  that  must  have  been  painful, 
with  an  effort  holds  out  his  hand,  grasps  yours,  and, 
forcing  a  smile,  murmurs,  ^'Merci''  —  that  is  what 
urges  you  to  hurry  back  for  other  wounded,  to  be  glad 
that  there  is  a  risk  to  one's  self  in  helping  them,  and  to 
feel  grateful  that  you  have  the  opportunity  to  serve 
the  brave  French  people  in  their  sublime  struggle. 

James  R.  McConnell 


Pf  fn  iC 


«^£i_ 


;WJ^ 


&&J 


VI 

AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  IN  THE  VERDUN  ATTACK » 

"Our  artillery  and  automobiles  have  saved  Ver- 
dun," French  officers  and  soldiers  were  continually 
telling  me.  And  as  I  look  back  on  two  months  of 
ambulance-driving  in  the  attack,  it  seems  to  me  that 
automobiles  played  a  larger  part  than  even  the 
famous  "seventy-fives,"  for  without  motor  transport 
there  would  have  been  no  ammunition  and  no  food. 
One  shell,  accurately  placed,  will  put  a  railway  com- 
munication out  of  the  running,  but  automobiles  must 
be  picked  off  one  by  one  as  they  come  within  range. 
The  picture  of  the  attack  that  will  stay  with  me 
always  is  that  of  the  Grande  Route  north  from  Bar-le- 
Duc,  covered  with  the  snow  and  ice  of  the  last  days 
of  February.  The  road  was  always  filled  with  two 
columns  of  trucks,  one  going  north  and  the  other 
coming  south.  The  trucks,  loaded  with  troops,  shells, 
and  bread,  rolled  and  hobbled  back  and  forth  with 
the  graceless,  uncertain  strength  of  baby  elephants. 
It  was  almost  impossible  to  steer  them  on  the  icy 
roads.  Many  of  them  fell  by  the  wayside,  overturned, 
burned  up,  or  were  left  apparently  unnoticed  in  the 
ceaseless  tide  of  traffic  that  never  seemed  to  hurry  or 
to  stop. 

^  This  article  was  printed  in  the  July  issue  of  the  Cornhill  Magazine, 
and  is  reproduced  by  permission  of  the  author  and  the  publishers  of  the 
Cornhill. 

89 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

All  night  and  all  day  it  continued.  Soon  the  roads 
began  to  wear  out.  Trucks  brought  stones  from  the 
ruins  of  the  battle  of  the  Marne  and  sprinkled  them 
in  the  ruts  and  holes;  soldiers,  dodging  in  and  out  of 
the  moving  cars,  broke  and  packed  the  stones  or 
sprinkled  sand  on  the  ice-covered  hillsides.  But  the 
traffic  was  never  stopped  for  any  of  these  things.  The 
continuous  supply  had  its  effect  on  the  demand. 
There  were  more  troops  than  were  needed  for  the 
trenches,  so  they  camped  along  the  road  or  in  the 
fields.  Lines  of  camions  ran  off  the  road  and  unloaded 
the  reserve  of  bread;  the  same  thing  was  done  with 
the  meat,  which  kept  well  enough  in  the  snow;  and 
the  shells,  which  a  simple  camouflage  of  white  tar- 
paulins effectually  hid  from  the  enemy  airmen. 

At  night,  on  the  main  road,  I  have  watched  for 
hours  the  dimmed  lights  of  the  camions,  winding  away 
north  and  south  like  the  coils  of  some  giant  and  lum- 
inous snake  which  never  stopped  and  never  ended.  It 
was  impressive  evidence  of  a  great  organization  that 
depended  and  was  founded  on  the  initiative  of  its 
members.  Behind  each  light  was  a  unit,  the  driver, 
whose  momentary  negligence  might  throw  the  whole 
line  into  confusion.  Yet  there  were  no  fixed  rules  to 
save  him  from  using  his  brain  quickly  and  surely  as 
each  crisis  presented  itself.  He  must  be  continually 
awake  to  avoid  any  one  of  a  thousand  possible  mis- 
chances. The  holes  and  ice  on  the  road,  his  skidding 
car,  the  cars  passing  in  the  same  and  opposite  direc- 
tions, the  cars  in  front  and  behind,  the  cars  broken 

90 


AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  AT  VERDUN 

down  on  the  sides  of  the  road  —  all  these  and  many- 
other  things  he  had  to  consider  before  using  brake  or 
throttle  in  making  his  way  along.  Often  snow  and 
sleet  storms  were  added  to  make  driving  more  diffi- 
cult. Objects  six  feet  away  were  completely  invisible, 
and  it  was  only  by  watching  the  trees  along  the  side  of 
the  road  that  one  could  attempt  to  steer. 

I  was  connected  with  the  Service  des  Autos  as  a 
di'iver  in  Section  N^  2  of  the  Field  Service  of  the 
American  Ambulance  of  Neuilly.  We  had  the  usual 
French  Section  of  twenty  ambulances  and  one  staff 
car,  but,  unlike  the  other  Sections,  we  had  only  one 
man  to  a  car.  There  were  two  officers,  one  the  Chief 
of  Section,  Walter  Lovell,  a  graduate  of  Harvard 
University  and  formerly  a  member  of  the  Boston 
Stock  Exchange;  and  George  Roeder,  Mechanical 
Officer,  in  charge  of  the  supply  of  parts  and  the  repair 
of  cars.  Before  the  war,  he  was  a  promising  bacteri- 
ologist in  the  Rockefeller  Institute.  Our  Section  was 
one  of  five  which  compose  the  Field  Service  of  the 
American  Ambulance,  and  are  located  at  various 
points  along  the  front  from  Dunkirk  to  the  Vosges. 
The  general  direction  of  the  Field  Service  is  in  the 
hands  of  A.  Piatt  Andrew,  formerly  professor  at 
Harvard  and  Assistant  Secretary  of  the  United  States 
Treasury.  He  has  organized  the  system  by  which 
volunteers  and  funds  are  obtained  in  America,  and  is 
the  responsible  link  between  the  work  of  the  Service 
and  the  will  of  the  French  authorities. 

In  each  of  the  five  Sections  there  are  twenty  driv- 

91 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

ers,  all  Americans  and  volunteers.  Most  of  them  are 
college  men  who  have  come  over  from  the  United 
States  to  " do  their  bit"  for  France  and  see  the  war  at 
the  same  time.  Certainly  our  Section  was  gathered 
from  the  four  corners  of  the  "States."  One,  a  gradu- 
ate of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  had  worked 
for  two  years  on  the  Panama  Canal  as  an  engineer; 
another,  an  Alaskan,  had  brought  two  hundred  dogs 
over  for  the  French  Government,  to  be  used  for  trans- 
portation in  the  Vosges;  a  third  was  a  well-known 
American  novelist  who  had  left  his  home  at  Florence 
to  be  a  chauffeur  for  France.  There  were  also  two 
architects,  a  New  York  undertaker,  several  soi-disant 
students,  and  a  man  who  owned  a  Mexican  ranch 
that  was  not  sufficiently  flourishing  to  keep  him  at 
home. 

The  term  of  service  required  by  the  French  authori- 
ties is  now  six  months,  though,  of  course,  some  of  the 
men  have  been  in  the  Section  since  the  battle  of  the 
Marne.  We  all  get  five  sous  a  day  and  rations  as  pri- 
vates in  the  French  army,  which  was  represented  in 
our  midst  by  a  lieutenant,  a  marechal  de  logis,  a 
mechanic,  and  a  cook. 

On  February  22  our  French  lieutenant  gave  us  our 
"order  to  move,"  but  all  he  could  tell  us  about  our 
destination  was  that  we  were  going  north.  We  started 
from  Bar-le-Duc  about  noon,  and  it  took  us  six  hours 
to  make  forty  miles  through  roads  covered  with  snow, 
swarming  with  troops,  and  all  but  blocked  by  convoys 
of  food  carts  and  sections  of  trucks.   Of  course,  we 

92 


AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  AT  VERDUN 

knew  that  there  was  an  attack  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Verdun,  but  we  did  not  know  who  was  making  it  or 
how  it  was  going.  Then  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
short  winter  twihght  we  passed  two  or  three  regiments 
of  French  colonial  troops  on  the  march  with  all  their 
field  equipment.  I  knew  who  and  what  they  were  by 
the  curious  Eastern  smell  that  I  had  always  before 
associated  with  camels  and  circuses.  They  were  lined 
up  on  each  side  of  the  road  around  their  soup  kitch- 
ens, which  were  smoking  busily,  and  I  had  a  good 
look  at  them  as  we  drove  along. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  an  African  army  in 
the  field,  and  though  they  had  had  a  long  march, 
they  were  cheerful  and  in  high  spirits  at  the  prospect 
of  battle.  They  were  all  young,  active  men,  and  of  all 
colors  and  complexions,  from  blue-eyed  blonds  to 
shiny  blacks.  They  all  wore  khaki  and  brown  shrap- 
nel casques  bearing  the  trumpet  insignia  of  the  French 
sharpshooter.  We  were  greeted  with  laughter  and 
chaff,  for  the  most  part,  in  an  unknown  chatter,  but 
now  and  again  some  one  would  say,  "Hee,  hee. 
Ambulance  Americaine,"  or  '*Yes,  Ingliish,  good- 
bye." 

I  was  fortunate  enough  to  pick  up  one  of  their  non- 
commissioned officers  with  a  bad  foot  who  was  going 
our  way.  He  was  born  in  Africa,  which  accounted  for 
his  serving  in  the  colonials,  though  his  mother  was 
American  and  his  father  French.  From  him  I  learned 
that  the  Germans  were  attacking  at  Verdun,  and  that, 
to  every  one's  surprise,  they  were  trying  to  drive  the 

93 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

point  of  the  salient  south  instead  of  cutting  it  off  from 
east  to  west.  As  we  were  passing  along,  one  of  his 
men  shouted  something  to  him  about  riding  in  an 
ambulance,  and  I  remarked  that  they  all  seemed  in  a 
very  good  humor.  "Oh  yes,"  he  answered;  "we're 
glad  to  be  on  the  move,  as  we ' ve  been  en  repos  since 
autumn  in  a  small  quiet  place  south  of  Paris."  "  But 
it  means  trouble,"  he  added  proudly,  "  their  sending 
us  up,  for  we  are  never  used  except  in  attacks,  and 
were  being  saved  for  the  summer.  Six  hundred  have 
been  killed  in  my  company  since  the  beginning,  so  I 
have  seen  something  of  this  war.  Now  my  regiment 
is  mixed  up  with  two  others,  and  altogether  we  make 
about  four  thousand  men." 

As  we  talked,  I  realized  that  his  was  a  different 
philosophy  from  that  of  the  ordinary  poilu  that  I  had 
been  carrying.  Certainly  he  loved  France  and  was  at 
war  for  her;  but  soldiering  was  his  business  and  fight- 
ing was  his  life.  Nothing  else  counted.  He  had  long 
since  given  up  any  thought  of  coming  out  alive,  so 
the  ordinary  limitations  of  life  and  death  did  not 
affect  him.  He  wanted  to  fight  and  last  as  long  as 
possible  to  leave  a  famous  name  in  his  regiment,  and 
to  add  as  many  citations  as  possible  to  the  three 
medals  he  had  already  gained.  He  was  the  only  man 
I  ever  met  who  was  really  eager  to  get  back  to  the 
trenches,  and  he  said  to  me  with  a  smile  when  I 
stopped  to  let  him  off,  "Thanks  for  the  lift,  mon 
vieux,  but  I  hope  you  don't  have  to  carry  me  back." 

After  that  we  rode  north  along  the  Meuse,  through 

94 


LOADING   THE   AMBULANCE 


AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  AT  VERDUN 

a  beautiful  country  where  the  snow-covered  hills, 
with  their  sky-lines  of  carefully  pruned  French  trees, 
made  me  think  of  masterpieces  of  Japanese  art.  In 
the  many  little  villages  there  was  much  excitement 
and  activity  with  troops,  artillery,  and  munitions 
being  rushed  through  to  the  front,  and  the  consequent 
wild  rumors  of  great  attacks  and  victories.  Curiously 
enough,  there  were  few  who  thought  of  defeat.  They 
were  all  sure,  even  when  a  retreat  was  reported,  that 
the  French  were  winning,  and  that  spirit  of  confidence 
had  much  to  do  with  stopping  the  Germans. 

At  about  six  in  the  evening  we  reached  our  destina- 
tion some  forty  miles  northeast  of  Bar-le-Duc.  The 
little  village  where  we  stopped  had  been  a  railroad 
centre  until  the  day  before,  when  the  Germans 
started  bombarding  it.  Now  the  town  was  evacuated, 
and  the  smoking  station  deserted.  The  place  had 
ceased  to  exist,  except  for  a  hospital  which  was  estab- 
lished on  the  southern  edge  of  the  town  in  a  lovely 
old  chateau,  overlooking  the  Meuse.  We  were  called 
up  to  the  hospital  as  soon  as  we  arrived  to  take  such 
wounded  as  could  be  moved  to  the  nearest  available 
rail-head,  which  was  ten  miles  away,  on  the  main 
road,  and  four  miles  south  of  Verdun.  We  started  out 
in  convoy,  but  with  the  then  conditions  of  traffic,  it 
was  impossible  to  stick  together,  and  it  took  some  of 
us  till  five  o'clock  the  next  morning  to  make  the  trip. 
That  was  the  beginning  of  the  attack  for  us,  and  the 
work  of  "evacuating"  the  wounded  to  the  railway 
stations  went  steadily  on  until  March  15.  It  was  left 

95 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

to  the  driver  to  decide  how  many  trips  it  was  physi- 
cally possible  for  him  to  make  in  each  twenty -four 
hours.  There  were  more  wounded  than  could  be 
carried,  and  no  one  could  be  certain  of  keeping  any 
kind  of  schedule  with  the  roads  as  they  then  were. 

Sometimes  we  spent  five  or  six  hours  waiting  at  a 
cross-road,  while  columns  of  troops  and  their  equip- 
ment filed  steadily  by.  Sometimes  at  night  we  could 
make  a  trip  in  two  hours  that  had  taken  us  ten  in 
daylight.  Sometimes,  too,  we  crawled  slowly  to  a 
station  only  to  find  it  deserted,  shells  falling,  and  the 
hospital  moved  to  some  still  more  distant  point  of 
the  line.  Situations  and  conditions  changed  from 
day  to  day  —  almost  from  hour  to  hour.  One  day  it 
was  sunshine  and  spring,  with  roads  six  inches  deep 
in  mud,  no  traffic,  and  nothing  to  remind  one  of  war, 
except  the  wounded  in  the  car  and  the  distant  roar 
of  the  guns,  which  sounded  like  a  giant  beating  a 
carpet.  The  next  day  it  was  winter  again,  with  mud 
turned  to  ice,  the  roads  blocked  with  troops,  and  the 
Germans  turning  hell  loose  with  their  heavy  guns. 

In  such  a  crisis  as  those  first  days  around  Verdun, 
ammunition  and  fresh  men  are  the  all-essential  things. 
The  wounded  are  the  dechets,  the  "has-beens,"  and 
so  must  take  second  place.  But  the  French  are  too 
gallant  and  tender-hearted  not  to  make  sacrifices. 
I  remember  one  morning  I  was  slapped  off  the  road 
into  a  ditch  with  a  broken  axle,  while  passing  a  soli- 
tary camion.  The  driver  got  down,  came  over,  and 
apologized  for  the  accident,  which  was  easily  half 

96 


AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  AT  VERDUN 

my  fault.  Then  we  unloaded  four  cases  of  "seventy- 
five"  shells  that  he  was  carrying,  and  put  my  three 
wounded  in  on  the  floor  of  his  car.  He  set  out  slowly 
and  carefully  up  the  ice-covered  road,  saying  to  me 
with  a  smile  as  he  left,  "Don't  let  the  Boches  get  my 
mar  mites  while  I'm  gone."  For  some  time  I  sat 
there  alone  on  the  road,  watching  the  shells  break 
on  a  hill  some  miles  away  to  the  north,  and  wonder- 
ing when  I  could  get  word  of  my  mishap  back  to 
the  base.  Then  a  staff  car  appeared  down  the  road 
making  its  way  along  slowly  and  with  difficulty,  be- 
cause, being  without  chains,  it  skidded  humorously 
with  engine  racing  and  the  chauffeur  trying  vainly 
to  steer.  There  was  a  captain  of  the  Service  des  Autos 
sitting  on  the  front  seat,  and  he  was  so  immacu- 
lately clean  and  well  groomed  that  he  seemed  far 
away  from  work  of  any  kind.  But  when  the  car 
stopped  completely  about  halfway  up  the  little  hill 
on  which  I  was  broken  down,  he  jumped  out,  took 
off  his  fur  coat,  and  using  it  to  give  the  rear  wheels 
a  grip  on  the  ice,  he  swung  it  under  the  car.  As  the 
wheels  passed  over  it,  he  picked  it  up  and  swung  it 
under  again.  So  the  car  climbed  the  hill  and  slid 
down  the  other  slope  round  the  curve  and  out  of  sight. 
It  was  just  another  incident  that  made  me  realize 
the  spirit  and  energy  of  the  French  Automobile 
Service.  But  the  captain  had  not  solved  any  of  my 
difficulties.  He  had  been  too  busy  to  notice  me  or 
wonder  why  an  American  ambulance  was  sprawled 
in  a  ditch  with  four  cases  of  shells  alongside. 

97 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

I  had  been  waiting  there  in  the  road  about  two 
hours  when  another  American  came  by  and  took 
back  word  of  my  accident  and  of  the  parts  necessary 
to  set  it  right.  Then  about  noon  my  friend  came 
back  in  his  camion  to  take  up  his  cases  of  shells  and 
report  my  wounded  safe  at  the  railway  station.  We 
lunched  together  on  the  front  seat  of  the  camion  on 
bread,  tinned  "monkey  meat,"  and  red  wine,  while 
he  told  me  stories  about  his  life  as  a  driver.  He  had 
been  on  his  car  then  for  more  than  twenty  days  with- 
out leaving  it  for  food  or  sleep.  That  morning  his 
"partner"  had  been  wounded  by  a  shell,  so  he  had 
to  drive  all  that  day  alone.  Usually  the  two  men  drive 
two  hours,  turn  and  turn  about;  while  one  is  driving, 
the  other  can  eat,  sleep,  or  read  the  day  before  yes- 
terday's newspaper.  The  French  camions  are  organ- 
ized in  sections  of  twenty.  Usually  each  section 
works  in  convoy,  and  has  its  name  and  mark  painted 
on  its  cars.  I  saw  some  with  elephants  or  ships,  some 
with  hearts  or  diamonds,  clubs  or  spades,  some  with 
dice  —  in  fact,  every  imaginable  symbol  has  been 
used  to  distinguish  the  thousands  of  sections  in  the 
service.  The  driver  told  me  there  were  more  than 
ten  thousand  trucks  working  between  Verdun  and 
Bar-le-Duc.  There  is  great  rivalry  between  the  men 
of  the  several  sections  in  matters  of  speed  and  load 
—  especially  between  the  sections  of  French  and 
those  of  American  or  Italian  cars.  The  American 
product  has  the  record  for  speed,  which  is,  however, 
offset  by  its  frequent  need  of  repair. 

98 


AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  AT  VERDUN 

My  friend  told  me  about  trips  he  had  made  up 
as  far  as  the  third-line  trenches,  and  how  they  were 
using  **  seventy -fives  "  like  machine-guns  in  dug-outs, 
where  the  shells  were  fired  at  "zero,"  so  that  they 
exploded  immediately  after  leaving  the  mouth  of  the 
gun.  The  French,  he  said,  would  rather  lose  guns  than 
men,  and  according  to  him,  there  were  so  many  guns 
placed  in  the  "live"  parts  of  the  Sector  that  the 
wheels  touched,  and  so  formed  a  continuous  line. 

As  soon  as  we  had  finished  lunch  he  left  me,  and 
I  waited  for  another  two  hours  until  the  American 
staff  car  (in  other  surroundings  I  should  call  it  an 
ordinary  Ford  touring-car  with  a  red  cross  or  so 
added)  came  along  loaded  with  an  extra  "rear  con- 
struction," and  driven  by  the  Chief  himself.  It  took 
us  another  four  hours  to  remove  my  battered  rear 
axle  and  put  in  the  new  parts,  but  my  car  was  back 
in  service  by  midnight. 

That  was  a  typical  instance  of  the  kind  of  accident 
that  was  happening,  and  there  were  about  three 
"Ford  casualties"  every  day.  Thanks  to  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  mechanism  of  the  Ford,  and  to  the  fact 
that,  with  the  necessary  spare  parts,  the  most  serious 
indisposition  can  be  remedied  in  a  few  hours,  our 
Section  has  been  at  the  front  for  a  year  —  ten  months 
in  the  Bois-le-Pretre,  and  two  months  at  Verdun  — 
without  being  sent  back  out  of  service  for  general  re- 
pairs. In  the  Bois-le-Pretre  we  had  carried  the 
wounded  from  the  dressing-stations  to  the  first  hos- 
pital, while  at  Verdun  we  were  on  service  from  the 

99 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

hospital  to  the  rail-heads.  In  this  latter  work  of 
evacuation  the  trips  were  much  longer,  thirty  to 
ninety  miles,  so  the  strain  on  the  cars  was  correspond- 
ingly greater.  As  our  cars,  being  small  and  fast,  car- 
ried only  three  wounded  on  stretchers  or  five  seated, 
our  relative  efficiency  was  low  in  comparison  with 
the  wear  and  tear  of  the  "running-gear"  and  the 
amount  of  oil  and  petrol  used.  But  in  the  period  from 
February  22  to  March  13,  twenty  days,  with  an 
average  of  eighteen  cars  working,  we  carried  2046 
wounded  18,915  miles.  This  would  be  no  record  on 
good  open  roads,  but  with  the  conditions  I  have  al- 
ready described  I  think  it  justified  the  existence  of 
our  volunteer  organization  —  if  it  needed  justifica- 
tion. Certainly  the  French  thought  so,  but  they  are 
too  generous  to  be  good  judges. 

Except  for  our  experiences  on  the  road,  there  was 
little  romance  in  the  daily  routine.  True,  we  were 
under  shell  fire,  and  had  to  sleep  in  our  cars  or  in  a 
much-inhabited  hayloft,  and  eat  in  a  little  inn,  half 
farmhouse  and  half  stable,  where  the  food  was  none 
too  good  and  the  cooking  none  too  clean;  but  we  all 
realized  that  the  men  in  the  trenches  would  have 
made  of  such  conditions  a  luxurious  paradise,  so  that 
kept  us  from  thinking  of  it  as  anything  more  than  a 
rather  strenuous  "camping  out." 

During  the  first  days  of  the  attack,  the  roads  were 
filled  with  refugees  from  the  town  of  Verdun  and  the 
country  north  of  it.  As  soon  as  the  bombardment 
started,  civilians  were  given  five  hours  to  leave,  and 

100 


AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  AT  VERDUN 

we  saw  them  —  old  men,  women,  and  children  — 
struggling  along  through  the  snow  on  their  way  south. 
It  was  but  another  of  those  sad  migrations  that  occur 
so  often  in  the  zone  des  armies.  The  journey  was 
made  difficult  and  often  dangerous  for  them  by  the 
columns  of  skidding  trucks,  so  the  more  timid  took 
to  the  fields  or  the  ditches  at  the  roadside.  They 
were  for  the  most  part  the  'petits  bourgeois  who  had 
kept  their  shops  open  until  the  last  minute,  to  make 
the  town  gay  for  the  troops,  who  filed  through  the 
Promenade  de  la  Digue  in  an  endless  queue  on  their 
way  to  and  from  the  trenches.  Most  of  them  had 
saved  nothing  but  the  clothes  on  their  backs,  though 
I  saw  one  old  woman  courageously  trundling  a 
barrow  overflowing  with  laces,  post-cards,  bonbons 
(doubtless  the  famous  Dragees  verdunoises) ,  and  other 
similar  things  which  had  been  part  of  her  stock-in- 
trade,  and  with  which  she  would  establish  a  Verdun 
souvenir  shop  when  she  found  her  new  home.  There 
were  many  peasant  carts  loaded  with  every  imagin- 
able article  of  household  goods  from  stoves  to  bird 
cages;  but  no  matter  what  else  a  cart  might  contain, 
there  was  always  a  mattress  with  the  members  of 
the  family,  old  and  young,  bouncing  along  on  top. 
So  ubiquitous  was  this  mattress  that  I  asked  about 
it,  and  was  told  that  the  French  peasant  considers  it 
the  most  important  of  his  Lares,  for  it  is  there  his 
babies  are  born  and  his  old  people  die  —  there,  too, 
is  the  family  bank,  the  hiding-place  for  the  has  de 
laine, 

101 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

All  the  people,  no  matter  what  their  class  or  sta- 
tion, were  excited.  Some  were  resigned,  some  weep- 
ing, some  quarrelling,  but  every  face  reflected  terror 
and  suffering,  for  these  derelicts  had  been  suddenly 
torn  from  the  ruins  of  their  old  homes  and  their  old 
lives  after  passing  through  two  days  of  the  heaviest 
bombardment  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

I  did  not  wonder  at  their  grief  or  terror  when  I  had 
seen  the  town  from  which  they  fled.  Sometimes  it  is 
quiet,  with  no  shells  and  no  excitement;  at  others  it 
is  a  raging  hell,  a  modern  Pompeii  in  the  ruining. 
Often  I  passed  through  the  town,  hearing  and  seeing 
nothing  to  suggest  that  any  enemy  artillery  was 
within  range.  But  one  morning  I  went  up  to  take  a 
doctor  to  a  near-by  hospital,  and  had  just  passed 
under  one  of  the  lovely  old  twelfth-century  gates, 
with  its  moat  and  towers,  when  the  Germans  be- 
gan their  morning  hate.  I  counted  one  hundred  and 
fifty  shells,  arrives,  in  the  first  quarter  of  an  hour. 

After  making  my  way  up  on  the  old  fortifications  in 
the  northeastern  quarter,  I  had  an  excellent  view  of 
the  whole  city  —  a  typical  garrison  town  of  northern 
France  spreading  over  its  canals  and  river  up  to  the 
Citadel  and  Cathedral  on  the  heights.  Five  and  six 
shells  were  shrieking  overhead  at  the  same  time,  and 
a  corresponding  number  of  houses  in  the  centre  of 
the  town  going  up  in  dust  and  debris,  one  after  an- 
other, almost  as  fast  as  I  could  count. 

During  this  bedlam  a  military  gendarme  strolled 
up  as  unconcerned  as  if  he  had  been  looking  out  for  a 

102 


AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  AT  VERDUN 

stranger  in  the  Champs  Elys6es.  He  told  me  about 
a  dug-out  that  was  somewhere  "  around  the  corner." 
But  we  both  got  so  interested  watching  the  shells 
and  their  effect  that  we  stayed  where  we  were.  The 
gendarme  had  been  in  the  town  long  enough  to  be- 
come an  authority  on  bombardments,  and  he  could 
tell  me  the  different  shells  and  what  they  were  hitting, 
from  the  colored  smoke  which  rose  after  each  explo- 
sion and  hung  like  a  pall  over  the  town  in  the  wind- 
less spring  air.  When  the  shells  fell  on  the  Cathe- 
dral —  often  there  were  three  breaking  on  and  around 
it  at  the  same  time  —  there  sprang  up  a  white  cloud, 
while  on  the  red  tiles  and  zinc  roofs  they  exploded 
in  brilliant  pink-and-yellow  puffs.  The  air  was  filled 
with  the  smell  of  the  burning  celluloid  and  coal-tar 
products  used  in  the  manufacture  of  the  high  explo- 
sive and  incendiary  shells.  It  was  very  impressive, 
and  even  my  friend  the  gendarme  said,  *'C'est  chic, 
n'est-ce  pas?  It  is  the  heaviest  rain  we  have  had  for 
several  days."  Then  he  pointed  to  the  left  where  a  col- 
umn of  flame  and  smoke,  heavier  than  that  from  the 
shells,  was  rising,  and  said,  "  Watch  them  now,  and 
you'll  understand  their  system,  the  cochons.  That's 
a  house  set  afire  with  their  incendiary  shells,  and  now 
they  will  throw  shrapnel  around  it  to  keep  our  fire- 
men from  putting  it  out."  And  so  they  did,  for  I  could 
see  the  white  puffs  of  the  six-inch  shrapnel  shells 
breaking  in  and  around  the  column  of  black  smoke, 
which  grew  denser  all  the  time.  Then  two  German 
Taubes,  taking  advantage  of  the  smoke,  came  over 

103 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

and  dropped  bombs,  for  no  other  reason  than  to  add 
terror  to  the  confusion.  But  the  eighty  firemen,  a 
brave  little  band  brought  up  from  Paris  with  their 
hose-carts  and  engine,  refused  to  be  confused  or 
terrified.  Under  the  shells  and  smoke  we  could  see 
the  streams  of  water  playing  on  the  burning  house. 
"They  are  working  from  the  cellars,"  said  the  gen- 
darme. It  was  fortunate  there  was  no  wind,  for  that 
house  was  doomed,  and  but  for  the  fact  that  all  the 
buildings  were  stone,  the  fire  would  have  spread  over 
all  that  quarter  of  the  town  despite  the  gallantry  of 
the  firemen. 

The  bombardment  continued  steadily  for  about 
two  hours  and  a  half,  until  several  houses  were  well 
alight  and  many  others  completely  destroyed.  Then 
about  noon  it  stopped  as  suddenly  as  it  had  started. 
I  wanted  to  go  down  and  watch  the  firemen  work, 
but  the  gendarme,  who  had  produced  an  excellent 
bottle  of  no  ordinary  pinard,  said, "  Wait  a  while,  mon 
vieux,  that  is  part  of  the  system.  They  have  only 
stopped  to  let  the  people  come  out.  In  a  few  min- 
utes it  will  start  again,  when  they  will  have  more 
chance  of  killing  somebody." 

But  for  once  he  was  wrong,  and  after  waiting  with 
him  for  half  an  hour,  I  went  down  to  the  first  house 
I  had  seen  catch  fire.  The  firemen  were  still  there, 
working  with  hose  and  axe  to  prevent  the  fire  from 
spreading.  The  four  walls  of  the  house  were  still 
standing,  but  inside  there  was  nothing  but  a  furnace 
which  glowed  and  leaped  into  flame  with  every 

104 


AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  AT  VERDUN 

draught  of  air,  so  that  the  sparks  flew  over  the  neigh- 
boring houses,  and  started  other  fires  which  the  fire- 
men were  busy  controlHng.  These  'pompiers  are  no 
longer  civilians.  The  black  uniform  and  gay  brass 
and  leather  helmet  of  Paris  fashion  have  been  re- 
placed with  the  blue-gray  of  the  poilu,  with  the  regu- 
lation steel  shrapnel  casque  or  bourguignotte.  The 
French  press  has  had  many  accounts  of  their  heroism 
since  the  beginning  of  the  attack.  Certainly  if  any 
of  the  town  is  left,  it  will  be  due  to  their  efforts  among 
the  ruins.  There  are  only  eighty  of  them  in  the  town. 
Half  of  them  are  men  too  old  for  *' active  sewice,''  yet 
they  have  stayed  there  for  two  months  working  night 
and  day  under  the  shells,  with  the  strain  of  the  bom- 
bardment added  to  the  usual  dangers  from  falling 
walls  and  fire.  They  are  still  as  gay  and  eager  as  ever. 
Their  spirit  and  motto  is  the  same  as  that  of  every 
soldier  and  civilian  who  is  doing  hard  work  in  these 
hard  times.  They  all  say,  "It  is  war,"  or  more  often, 
"It  is  for  France." 

I  left  them  saving  what  they  could  of  the  house, 
and  walked  on  over  the  river  through  the  town.  It 
is  truly  the  Abomination  of  Desolation.  The  air  was 
heavy  and  hot  with  the  smell  of  explosives  and  the 
smoke  from  the  smouldering  ruins.  Not  a  sound 
broke  the  absolute  quiet  and  not  a  soul  was  in  sight. 
I  saw  two  dogs  and  a  cat  all  slinking  about  on  the 
search  for  food,  and  evidently  so  crazed  with  terror 
that  they  could  not  leave  their  old  homes.  Finally, 
crossing  over  the  canal,  where  the  theatre,  now  a  heap 

105 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

of  broken  beams  and  stones,  used  to  stand,  I  met  an 
old  bearded  Territorial  leaning  over  the  bridge  with 
a  net  in  his  hand  to  dip  out  fish  killed  by  the  explo- 
sion of  the  shells  in  the  water.  He  did  not  worry 
about  the  danger  of  his  position  on  the  bridge,  and, 
like  all  true  fishermen,  when  they  have  had  good 
luck,  he  was  happy  and  philosophical.  "One  must 
live,"  said  he,  "and  it's  very  amiable  of  the  Boches 
to  keep  us  in  fish  with  their  marmites,  n'est-ce  pas, 
mon  vieux?''  We  chatted  for  a  while  of  bombard- 
ments, falling  walls,  and  whether  the  Germans  would 
reach  Verdun.  He,  of  course,  like  every  soldier  in 
that  region,  was  volubly  sure  they  would  not.  Then 
I  went  up  on  the  hill  towards  the  Cathedral,  by  the 
old  library,  which  was  standing  with  doors  and  win- 
dows wide  open,  and  with  the  well-ordered  books 
still  on  the  tables  and  in  the  shelves.  As  yet  it  is  un- 
touched by  fire  or  shell,  but  too  near  the  bridge  to 
escape  for  long. 

I  continued  my  way  through  streets  filled  with 
fallen  wires,  broken  glass,  and  bits  of  shell.  Here 
and  there  were  dead  horses  and  broken  wagons 
caught  in  passing  to  or  from  the  lines.  There  is 
nothing  but  ruins  left  of  the  lovely  residential  quar- 
ter below  the  Cathedral.  The  remaining  walls  of 
the  houses,  gutted  by  flame  and  shell,  stand  in  a 
wavering  line  along  a  street,  blocked  with  debris, 
and  with  furniture  and  household  articles  that  the 
firemen  have  saved.  The  furniture  is  as  safe  in  the 
middle  of  the  street  as  anywhere  else  in  the  town. 

106 


AN  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  AT  VERDUN 

As  I  passed  along  I  could  hear  from  time  to  time  the 
crash  and  roar  of  falling  walls,  and  see  the  rising 
clouds  of  white  stone  dust  that  has  settled  thickly 
everywhere. 

The  Cathedral,  with  its  Bishop's  Palace  and  clois- 
ters, —  all  fine  old  structures  of  which  the  founda- 
tions were  laid  in  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries, 
—  must,  from  its  commanding  position  overlooking 
the  town,  be  singled  out  for  destruction.  I  watched 
ten  shells  strike  the  Cathedral  that  one  morning,  and 
some  of  them  were  the  terrible  380's,  the  shells  of 
the  sixteen-inch  mortars,  which  make  no  noise  as 
they  approach  and  tear  through  to  the  ground  before 
their  explosion. 

The  interior  of  the  Cathedral,  blurred  with  a  half- 
inch  layer  of  stone  dust,  is  in  most  "unchurchly" 
disorder.  Four  or  five  shells  have  torn  large  holes 
through  the  roof  of  the  nave,  and  twice  as  many  more 
have  played  havoc  with  the  chapels  and  aisles  at  the 
side.  One  has  fallen  through  the  gilded  canopy  over 
the  high  altar  and  broken  one  of  the  four  supporting 
columns,  which  before  were  monoliths  like  those  of 
St.  Peter's  at  Rome.  Of  course,  most  of  the  stained- 
glass  windows  are  scattered  in  fragments  over  the 
floor,  and  through  the  openings  on  the  southern  side 
I  could  see  the  ruins  of  the  cloisters,  with  some  chairs 
and  a  bed  literally  falling  into  them  from  a  room  of 
the  Bishop's  Palace  above. 

This  destruction  of  the  Cathedral  is  typical  of  the 
purposeless  barbarity  of  the  whole  proceeding.  The 

107 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

wiping  out  of  the  town  can  serve  no  military  pur- 
pose. There  are  no  stores  of  munitions  or  railway 
communications  to  be  demolished.  Naturally  there 
are  no  troops  quartered  in  the  town,  and  now  all 
extensive  movements  of  convoys  are  conducted  by 
other  roads  than  those  leading  through  the  town. 
Yet  the  bombardment  continues  day  after  day,  and 
week  after  week.  The  Germans  are  sending  in  about 
£5,000,000  worth  of  shells  a  month.  "It's  spite,"  a 
j)oilu  said  to  me;  "they  have  made  up  their  minds  to 
destroy  the  town  since  they  can't  capture  it;  but  it 
will  be  very  valuable  as  an  iron  mine  after  the  war."  ^ 

Frank  Hoyt  Gailor 

^  Since  the  writing  of  this  chapter,  four  Sections  of  the  Ambulance 
have  been  sent  to  the  vicinity  of  Verdun:  Section  3  in  the  region  about 
Douaumont;  Section  4  at  Mort  Homme;  Section  8  near  the  fortress  of 
Vaux;  and  Section  2.  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Verdun. 


vn 

THE  SECTION  AT  VERDUN 
I 

It  gave  us  rather  a  wrench  to  leave  Pont-^-Mousson. 
The  Section  had  been  quartered  there  since  April, 
1915,  and  we  were  attached  to  the  quaint  town  and 
to  the  friends  we  had  made.  The  morning  of  our  de- 
parture was  warm  and  clear.  Walking  along  the  con- 
voy, which  had  formed  in  the  road  before  our  villa, 
came  the  jpoilus,  and  shook  hands  with  each  con- 
ducteur,  **Au  revoir,  monsieur,''^  *'Au  revoir,  Paul.''* 
** Bonne  chance,  Pierre!"  We  took  a  last  look  at  the 
town  which  had  sheltered  us,  at  the  scene  of  the  most 
dramatic  moments  in  our  lives.  Above  the  tragic  sil- 
houette of  a  huddle  of  ruined  houses  rose  the  grassy 
slopes  of  the  great  ridge  crowned  by  the  Bois-le- 
Pretre,  the  rosy  morning  mists  were  lifting  from  the 
shell-shattered  trees,  a  golden  sun  poured  down  a 
spring-like  radiance.  Suddenly  a  great  cloud  of  gray- 
ish white  smoke  rose  over  the  haggard  wood  and 
melted  slowly  away  in  the  northeast  wind;  an  instant 
later,  a  reverberating  boom  signalled  the  explosion  of 
a  mine  in  the  trenches.  There  was  a  shrill  whistle,  our 
lieutenant  raised  his  hand,  and  the  convoy  swung 
down  the  road  to  Dieulouard.   *^Au  revoir  les  Ameri- 

109 


FRIENDS  OF^FRANCE 

cains! "  cried  our  friends.  A  little,  mud-slopped,  blue- 
helmeted  handful,  they  waved  to  us  till  we  turned  the 
corner.   *^  Au  revoir,  les  Amiricainsl*' 

II 

We  left  Pont-a-Mousson  imagining  that  our  Sec- 
tion was  in  for  a  month's  repairing  and  tinkering  at 
the  military  motor  park,  but  as  we  came  towards  B. 
our  opinion  changed.  We  began  to  pass  file  after  file 
of  troops,  many  of  them  the  khaki-clad  troupes  d^ai- 
toque,  bull-necked  Zouaves,  and  wiry,  fine-featured 
Arabs.  A  regiment  was  halted  at  a  crossroad;  some  of 
the  men  had  taken  off  their  jackets  and  hung  them 
to  the  cross-beam  of  a  wayside  crucifix.  On  the  grass 
before  it,  in  the  circle  of  shade  made  by  the  four  trees 
which  pious  Meusian  custom  here  plants  round  a 
Calvaire,  sprawled  several  powerful-looking  fellows; 
one  lay  flat  on  his  belly  with  his  face  in  his  Turkish 
cap.  Hard  by,  in  a  little  copse,  the  regimental  kitchen 
was  smoking  and  steaming  away.  A  hunger-breeding 
smell  of  la  soupe,  la  bonne  soupe,  assailed  our  nostrils. 
Quite  by  himself,  an  older  man  was  skilfully  cutting  a 
slice  of  bread  with  a  shiny,  curved  knife.  The  rooks 
eddied  above  the  bare  brown  fields.  Just  below  was  a 
village  with  a  great  cloud  of  wood  smoke  hanging 
over  it. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  were  assigned  quarters  in 
the  barracks  of  B. 


110 


THE  SECTION  AT  VERDUN 

III 

At  B.  we  found  an  English  Section  that  had  been 
as  suddenly  displaced  as  our  own.  Every  minute 
loaded  camions  ground  into  town  and  disappeared 
towards  the  east,  troops  of  all  kinds  came  in,  flick, 
flack,  the  sun  shining  on  the  barrels  of  the  lebels,  a 
train  of  giant  mortars,  mounted  on  titanic  trucks  and 
drawn  by  big  motor  lorries,  crashed  over  the  pave- 
ments and  vanished  somewhere.  Some  of  our  con- 
ducteurs  made  friends  with  the  English  drivers,  and 
swapped  opinions  as  to  what  was  in  the  wind.  One 
heard,  "Well,  those  Frenchies  have  got  something  up 
their  sleeve.  We  were  in  the  battle  of  Champarng, 
and  it  began  just  like  this."  A  voice  from  our  Ameri- 
can West  began,  "Say  —  what  kind  of  carburetors  do 
you  birds  use.f^"  New  England  asked,  "How  many 
cars  have  you  got?"  And  London,  on  being  shown 
the  stretcher  arrangements  of  our  cars,  exclaimed, 
"That  ain't  so  dusty,  —  eh,  wot?"  Round  us,  rising 
to  the  full  sea  of  the  battle,  the  tide  of  war  surged  and 
disappeared.  At  dusk  a  company  of  dragoons,  big 
helmeted  men  on  big  horses,  trotted  by,  their  blue 
mantles  and  mediaeval  casques  giving  them  the  air  of 
crusaders.  At  night  the  important  corners  of  the 
streets  were  lit  with  cloth  transparencies,  with  "Ver- 
dun" and  a  great  black  arrow  painted  on  them. 
Night  and  day,  going  as  smoothly  as  if  they  were 
linked  by  an  invisible  chain,  went  the  hundred  con- 
voys of  motor  lorries.  There  was  a  sense  of  some- 
Ill 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

thing  great  in  the  air  —  a  sense  of  apprehension. 
^^Les  Boches  vont  attaquer  Verdun.'' 

IV 

On  the  21st  the  order  came  to  go  to  M.  The  Boches 
had  made  their  first  attack  that  morning;  this,  how- 
ever, we  did  not  know.  At  M.,  a  rather  unlovely 
eighteenth-century  chateau  stands  in  a  park  built  out 
on  the  meadows  of  the  Meuse.  The  flooded  river 
flowed  round  the  dark  pines.  At  night  one  could  hear 
the  water  roaring  under  the  bridges.  The  chateau, 
which  had  been  a  hospital  since  the  beginning  of  the 
war,  reeked  with  ether  and  iodoform;  pasty-faced, 
tired  attendants  unloaded  mud,  cloth,  bandages,  and 
blood  that  turned  out  to  be  human  beings;  an  over- 
wrought doctor-in-chief  screamed  contradictory  or- 
ders at  everybody,  and  flared  into  crises  of  hysterical 
rage. 

Ambulance  after  ambulance  came  from  the  lines 
full  of  clients;  kindly  hands  pulled  out  the  stretch- 
ers, and  bore  them  to  the  wash-room.  This  was  in  the 
cellar  of  the  dove-cote,  in  a  kind  of  salt-shaker  turret. 
Snip,  snap  went  the  scissors  of  the  brancardiers,  who 
looked  after  the  bath,  —  good  souls  these  two;  the 
uniforms  were  slit  from  mangled  limbs.  The  wounded 
lay  naked  in  their  stretchers  while  the  attendant 
daubed  them  with  a  hot  soapy  sponge;  the  blood  ran 
from  their  wounds  through  the  stretcher  to  the  floor, 
and  seeped  into  the  cracks  of  the  stones.  A  lean, 
bearded  man,  closed  his  eyes  over  the  agony  of  his 

m 


THE  SECTION  AT  VERDUN 

opened  entrails  and  died  there.  I  thought  of  Henner's 
dead  Christ. 

Outside,  mingling  with  the  roaring  of  the  river, 
came  the  great,  terrible  drumming  of  the  bombard- 
ment. An  endless  file  of  troops  were  passing  down 
the  great  road.  Night  came  on.  Our  ambulances 
were  in  a  little  side  street  at  right  angles  to  the  great 
road;  their  lamps  flares  beat  fiercely  on  a  little  section 
of  the  great  highway.  Suddenly,  plunging  out  of  the 
darkness  into  the  intense  radiance  of  the  acetylene 
beams,  came  a  battery  of  75's,  the  helmeted  men 
leaning  over  on  the  horses,  the  guns  rattling  and  the 
harness  clanking,  a  swift  picture  of  movement  that 
plunged  again  into  darkness.  And  with  the  darkness, 
the  whole  horizon  became  brilliant  with  cannon  fire. 


We  were  well  within  the  horseshoe  of  German  fire 
that  surrounded  the  French  lines.  It  was  between 
midnight  and  one  o'clock,  the  sky  was  deep  and  clear, 
with  big  ice-blue  winter  stars.  We  halted  at  a  certain 
road  to  wait  our  chance  to  deliver  our  wounded.  It 
was  a  melee  of  beams  of  light,  of  voices,  of  obscure 
motions,  sounds.  Refugees  went  by,  decent  people 
in  black,  the  women  being  escorted  by  a  soldier.  One 
saw  sad,  harassed  faces.  A  woman  came  out  of  the 
turmoil,  carrying  a  cat  in  a  canary  cage;  the  animal 
swept  the  gilded  bars  with  curved  claws,  and  its  eyes 
shone  black  and  crazily.  Others  went  by  pushing 
baby  carriages  full  to  the  brim  with  knick-knacks 

113 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

and  packages.  Some  pushed  a  kind  of  barrow.  At 
the  very  edge  of  earth  and  sky  was  a  kind  of  violet- 
white  inferno,  the  thousand  finger-Hke  jabs  of  the 
artillery  shot  unceasing  to  the  stars,  the  great  semi- 
circular aureole  flares  of  the  shorter  pieces  were  seen 
a  hundred  times  a  minute.  Over  the  moorland  came 
a  terrible  roaring  such  as  a  river  might  make  tum- 
bling through  some  subterranean  abyss.  A  few  miles 
below,  a  dull,  ruddy  smouldering  in  the  sky  told  of 
fires  in  Verdun.  The  morning  clouded  over,  the 
dawn  brought  snow.  Even  in  the  daytime  the  great 
cannon  flashes  could  be  seen  in  the  low,  brownish 
snow-clouds. 

On  the  way  to  M.,  two  horses  that  had  died  of  ex- 
haustion lay  in  a  frozen  ditch.  Ravens,  driven  from 
their  repast  by  the  storm,  cawed  hungrily  in  the  trees. 

VI 

We  slept  in  the  loft  of  one  of  the  buildings  that 
formed  the  left  wing  of  the  courtyard  of  the  castle. 
To  enter  it,  we  had  to  pass  through  a  kind  of  lumber- 
room  on  the  ground  floor  in  which  the  hospital  coffins 
were  kept.  Above  was  a  great,  dim  loft,  rich  in  a 
greasy,  stably  smell,  a  smell  of  horses  and  sweaty 
leather,  the  odor  of  a  dirty  harness  room.  At  the  end 
of  the  room,  on  a  kind  of  raised  platform,  was  the 
straw  in  which  we  lay;  a  crazy,  sagging  shelf,  covered 
with  oily  dust,  bundles  of  clothes,  knapsacks,  books, 
candle  ends,  and  steel  helmets,  ran  along  the  wall  over 
our  heads.  All  night  long,  the  horses  underneath  us 

114 


THE  SECTION  AT  VERDUN 

squealed,  pounded,  and  kicked.  I  see  in  the  lilac 
dawn  of  a  winter  morning  the  yellow  light  of  an 
officer's  lantern,  and  hear  the  call,  "Up,  boys  — 
there's  a  call  to  B."  The  bundles  in  the  dirty  blan- 
kets groan;  unshaven,  unwashed  faces  turn  tired  eyes 
to  the  lantern;  some,  completely  worn  out,  lie  in  a 
kind  of  sleepy  stupor.  A  wicked  screaming  whistle 
passes  over  our  heads,  and  the  shell,  bursting  on  a 
nearby  location,  startles  the  dawn. 

The  snow  begins  to  fall  again.  The  river  has  fallen, 
and  the  air  is  sickish  with  the  dank  smell  of  the  un- 
covered meadows.  A  regiment  on  the  way  to  the 
front  has  encamped  just  beyond  the  hospital.  The 
men  are  trying  to  build  little  shelters.  A  handful  of 
fagots  is  blazing  in  the  angle  of  two  walls;  a  handful 
of  grave-faced  men  stand  round  it,  stamping  their 
feet.  In  the  hospital  yard,  the  stretcher-bearers  un- 
load the  body  of  an  officer  who  has  died  in  the  ambu- 
lance. The  dead  man's  face  is  very  calm  and  peace- 
ful, though  the  bandages  indicate  terrible  wounds. 
The  cannon  flashes  still  jab  the  snowy  sky. 

VII 

The  back  of  the  attack  is  broken,  and  we  are  be- 
ginning to  get  a  little  rest.  During  the  first  week  our 
cars  averaged  runs  of  two  hundred  miles  a  day.  And 
this  over  roads  chewed  to  pieces,  and  through  the 
most  difficult  traffic.  In  one  of  the  places,  there  was  a 
formidable  shell  gantlet  to  run. 

This  morning  I  drove  to  B.   with  a  poilu.    He 

115 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

asked  me  what  I  did  en  civil.  I  told  him.  "I  am  a 
patissier,"  he  replied.  "When  this  business  is  over, 
we  shall  have  some  cakes  together  in  my  good  warm 
shop,  and  my  wife  shall  make  us  some  chocolate." 
He  gave  me  his  address.  A  regiment  of  young  men 
marched  singing  down  the  moorland  road  to  the 
battle-line.  **Ah,  les  braves  enfantsi"  said  the  pastry 
cook. 

Henry  Sheahan 


VIII 

THE  SECTION  IN  FLANDERS 

The  Section  which  is  here  designated  as  the  "Sec- 
tion in  Flanders"  has  at  least  two  distinguishing 
characteristics.  This  was  the  first  Section  of  substan- 
tial proportions  to  be  geographically  separated  from 
the  "American  Ambulance"  at  Neuilly  and  turned 
over  to  the  French  army.  Until  it  left  "for  the  front" 
our  automobiles  had  worked  either  to  and  from  the 
Neuilly  hospital,  as  an  evacuating  base,  or,  if  temp- 
orarily detached  for  service  elsewhere,  they  had  gone 
out  in  very  small  units. 

Secondarily,  it  has  the  distinction  of  having  been 
moved  about  more  frequently  and  of  having  been  at- 
tached to  more  diverse  army  units  than  any  other  of 
our  Sections.  During  the  first  year  of  its  history,  it 
was  located  successively  in  almost  every  part  of  Flan- 
ders still  subject  to  the  Allies :  first  at  Dunkirk  and 
Malo,  then  at  Poperinghe  and  Elverdinghe,  then  at 
Coxyde  and  Nieuport,  then  at  Crombeke  and  Woes- 
ten.  Then  after  a  full  year  in  Flanders  it  was  moved 
to  Beauvais  for  revision,  and  since  then  it  has  worked 
in  the  region  between  Soissons  and  Compiegne  and 
subsequently  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mericourt-sur- 
Somme. 

During  most  of  the  time  the  men  have  been  quar- 
tered in  barns  and  stables,  sleeping  in  lofts  in  the  hay 

117 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

or  straw,  or  on  stretchers  on  the  floor,  or  inside  their 
ambulances,  or,  during  the  summer,  on  the  ground, 
in  improvised  tents  in  the  open  fields. 

The  opportunities  for  comfortable  writing  have 
been  few,  and  no  complete  story  of  the  Section's 
experiences  has  ever  been  written.  The  following 
pages  give  only  glimpses  of  a  history  which  has  been 
crammed  with  incidents  and  impressions  worth  re- 
cording. 

The  Section's  story  began  in  the  cold  wet  days  of 
early  January,  1915,  when  twenty  men  with  twelve 
cars  left  Paris  for  the  north.  We  spent  our  first  night 
en  route  in  the  shadow  of  the  Beauvais  Cathedral, 
passing  the  following  day  through  many  towns  filled 
with  French  troops,  and  then,  as  we  crossed  into  the 
British  Sector,  through  towns  and  villages  abound- 
ing with  the  khaki-clad  soldiers  of  England  and  her 
colonies  and  the  turbaned  troops  of  British  India. 
The  second  night  we  stayed  at  Saint-Omer,  the  men 
sleeping  in  their  cars  in  the  centre  of  the  town  square, 
and  the  third  morning,  passing  out  of  the  British 
Sector  once  more  into  the  French  lines,  we  arrived 
in  Dunkirk  where  our  work  began. 

We  were  at  once  assigned  to  duty  in  connection 
with  a  hospital  established  in  the  freight  shed  of  a 
railway  station,  and  from  then  on  for  many  a  long 
day  our  duty  was  to  carry  wounded  and  sick  in  a 
never-ending  stream  from  the  station,  where  they 
arrived  from  the  front  by  four  or  five  daily  trains,  to 
the  thirty  or  more  hospitals  in  and  about  the  city. 

118 


"^-«,-S 


THE  SECTION  IN  FLANDERS 

Every  school,  barrack,  and  other  large  building  in  the 
town  (even  the  public  theatre)  or  in  the  neighboring 
towns  within  ten  miles  of  Dunkirk,  seemed  to  have 
been  turned  into  a  hospital.  Our  work  was  extremely 
useful,  the  Section  carrying  scores  and  scores  of  sick 
and  wounded,  day  after  day,  week  in  and  out.  The 
first  incident  of  an  exciting  nature  came  on  the  second 
day. 

We  were  nearly  all  at  the  station,  quietly  waiting 
for  the  next  train,  when  high  up  in  the  air  there  ap- 
peared first  one,  then  three,  and  finally  seven  grace- 
ful aeroplanes.  We  watched,  fascinated,  and  were 
the  more  so  when  a  moment  later  we  learned  that 
they  were  Taubes.  It  seemed  hard  to  realize  that  we 
were  to  witness  one  of  the  famous  raids  that  have 
made  Dunkirk  even  more  famous  than  the  raider 
Jean  Bart  himself  had  ever  done.  Explosions  were 
heard  on  all  sides  and  the  sky  was  soon  spotted  with 
puffs  of  white  smoke  from  the  shells  fired  at  the  in- 
truders. The  rattle  of  the  mitrailleuses  and  the  bang 
of  the  75 's  became  a  background  of  sound  for  the 
more  solemn  boom  of  the  shells.  A  few  moments 
later  there  was  a  bang  not  thirty  yards  away  and  we 
were  showered  with  bits  of  stone.  We  stood  spell- 
bound until  the  danger  was  over  and  then  foolishly 
jumped  behind  our  cars  for  protection. 

This  incident  of  our  early  days  was  soon  thrown 
into  unimportance  by  other  raids,  each  more  interest- 
ing than  the  last.  One  of  them  stands  out  in  memory 
above  all  the  rest.    It  was  a  perfect  moonlit  night, 

119 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

quite  cloudless.  Four  of  my  companions  and  I  were 
on  night  duty  in  the  railway  yard.  About  eleven  the 
excitement  started,  and  to  say  it  commenced  with  a 
bang  is  not  slang  but  true.  Rather  it  commenced 
with  many  bangs.  The  sight  was  superb  and  the  ex- 
citement intense.  One  could  hear  the  whirr  of  the 
motors,  and  when  they  presented  a  certain  angle  to 
the  moon  the  machines  showed  up  like  enormous 
silver  flies.  One  had  a  delicious  feeling  of  danger,  and 
to  stand  there  and  hear  the  crash  of  the  artillery,  the 
buzzing  of  the  aeroplanes,  the  swish  of  the  bombs  as 
they  fell  and  the  crash  as  they  exploded,  made  an  un- 
forgettable experience.  One  could  plainly  hear  the 
bombs  during  their  flight,  for  each  has  a  propeller  at- 
tached which  prevents  its  too  rapid  descent,  thus  in- 
suring its  not  entering  so  far  into  the  ground  as  to  ex- 
plode harmlessly.  To  hear  them  coming  and  to  wonder 
if  it  would  be  your  turn  next  was  an  experience  new 
to  us  all.  The  bombardment  continued  for  perhaps 
an  hour  and  then  our  work  began.  I  was  sent  down 
to  the  quay  and  brought  back  two  wounded  men  and 
one  who  had  been  killed,  and  all  my  companions  had 
about  the  same  experience.  One  took  a  man  from  a 
half -demolished  house;  another,  an  old  woman  who 
had  been  killed  in  her  bed;  another,  three  men  badly 
mutilated  who  had  been  peacefully  walking  on  the 
street.  An  hour  later  all  was  quiet  —  except  perhaps 
the  nerves  of  some  of  the  men. 

About  this  time  our  work  was  enlivened  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  one  and  only  real  ambulance  war  dog 

1^0 


THE  SECTION  IN  FLANDERS 

and  the  official  mascot  of  the  squad.  And  my  personal 
dog  at  that!  I  was  very  jealous  on  that  point  and 
rarely  let  him  ride  on  another  machine.  I  got  him  at 
Zuydcoote.  He  was  playing  about,  and  as  he  ap- 
peared to  be  astray  and  was  very  friendly,  I  allowed 
him  to  get  on  the  seat  and  stay  there.  But  I  had  to 
answer  so  many  questions  about  him  that  it  became  a 
bore,  and  finally  I  prepared  a  speech  to  suit  all  oc- 
casions, and  when  any  one  approached  me  used  to  say, 
**  A^on,  madame,  il  n'est  pas  Americain,  il  est  Frangais; 
je  I'ai  trouve  ici  dans  le  Nord."  One  day  a  rosy- 
cheeked  young  lady  approached  us,  called  the  dog 
"Dickie"  and  I  started  my  speech.  "II  ne  s'appelle 
pas  Dickie,  madame,  mais  Khaki,  et  vous  savez  il  est 
Frangais."  "Je  sais  bien,  monsieur,  puisqu'il  est  a 
moi."  I  felt  sorry  and  chagrined,  but  not  for  long,  as 
a  moment  later  the  lady  presented  him  to  me. 

We  will  skip  over  the  humdrum  life  of  the  next  few 
weeks  to  a  night  in  April  when  we  were  suddenly 
ordered  to  the  station  at  about  1  a.m.  It  was,  I  think, 
April  22.  "The  Germans  have  crossed  the  Yser" 
was  the  news  that  sent  a  thrill  through  all  of  us. 
Would  they  this  time  reach  Calais  or  would  they  be 
pushed  back.f^  We  had  no  time  to  linger  and  wonder. 
All  night  long  we  worked  unloading  the  trains  that 
followed  each  other  without  pause.  The  Germans  had 
used  a  new  and  infernal  method  of  warfare;  they  had 
released  a  cloud  of  poisonous  gas  which,  with  a  favora- 
ble wind,  had  drifted  down  and  completely  enveloped 
the  Allies'  trenches.  The  tales  of  this  first  gas  attack 

m 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

were  varied  and  fantastic,  but  all  agreed  on  the  sup- 
prise  and  the  horror  of  it.  Trains  rolled  in  filled  with 
huddled  figures,  some  dying,  some  more  lightly 
touched,  but  even  these  coughed  so  that  they  were 
unable  to  speak  coherently.  All  told  the  same  story,  of 
having  become  suddenly  aware  of  a  strange  odor,  and 
then  of  smothering  and  choking  and  falling  like  flies. 
In  the  midst  of  all  this  had  come  a  hail  of  shrapnel. 
The  men  were  broken  as  I  have  never  seen  men 
broken.  In  the  months  of  our  work  we  had  become  so 
accustomed  to  dreadful  sights  and  to  suffering  as  to 
be  little  affected  by  them.  The  sides  and  floor  of  our 
cars  had  often  been  bathed  in  blood;  our  ears  had  not 
infrequently  been  stirred  by  the  groans  of  men  in 
^gony.  But  these  sufferers  from  the  new  form  of  at- 
tack inspired  in  us  all  feelings  of  pity  beyond  any  that 
we  had  ever  felt  before.  To  see  these  big  men  bent 
double,  convulsed  and  choking,  was  heartbreaking 
and  hate-inspiring. 

At  ten  o'clock  we  were  ordered  to  Poperinghe, 
about  twenty  miles  from  Dunkirk  and  three  miles 
from  Ypres,  where  one  of  the  biggest  battles  of  the 
war  was  just  getting  under  way.  The  town  was  filled 
with  refugees  from  Ypres,  which  was  in  flames  and 
uninhabitable.  Through  Poperinghe  and  beyond  it 
we  slowly  wound  our  way  in  the  midst  of  a  solid 
stream  of  motor  trucks,  filled  with  dust-covered 
soldiers  coming  up  to  take  their  heroic  part  in  stem- 
ming the  German  tide.  We  were  to  make  our  head- 
quarters for  the  time  at  Elverdinghe,  but  as  we  ap- 

122 


A   "POSTE   DE   SECOURS"   IX  FLANDERS 


WAITING   AT  A   "  POSTE  DE  SECOURS' 


THE  SECTION  IN  FLANDERS 

proached  our  destination  the  road  was  being  shelled 
and  we  put  on  our  best  speed  to  get  through  the 
danger  zone.  This  destination  turned  out  to  be  a 
small  chateau  in  Elverdinghe,  where  a  first-aid  hos- 
pital had  been  established.  All  round  us  batteries 
of  French  and  English  guns  were  thundering  their 
aid  to  the  men  in  the  trenches  some  two  miles  away. 
In  front  of  us  and  beside  us  were  the  famous  75 's, 
the  90's,  and  120's,  and  farther  back  the  great  Eng- 
lish marine  guns,  and  every  few  seconds  we  could 
hear  their  big  shells  passing  over  us.  An  automobile 
had  just  been  put  out  of  commission  by  a  shell,  be- 
fore we  reached  the  chateau,  so  we  had  to  change 
our  route  and  go  up  another  road.  The  chateau  pre- 
sented a  terrible  scene.  In  every  room  straw  and 
beds  and  stretchers,  and  mangled  men  everywhere. 
We  started  to  work  and  for  twenty-six  hours  there 
was  scarcely  time  for  pause.  Our  work  consisted  in 
going  down  to  the  pastes  de  secours,  or  first-aid  sta- 
tions, situated  in  the  Flemish  farmhouses,  perhaps 
four  hundred  or  five  hundred  yards  from  the  trenches, 
where  the  wounded  get  their  first  primitive  dress- 
ings, and  then  in  carrying  the  men  back  to  the  dress- 
ing-stations where  they  were  dressed  again,  and 
then  in  taking  them  farther  to  the  rear  to  the  hos- 
pitals outside  of  shell  range.  The  roads  were  bad 
and  we  had  to  pass  a  constant  line  of  convoys.  At 
night  no  lights  were  allowed  and  one  had  to  be  es- 
pecially careful  not  to  jolt  his  passengers.  Even 
the  best  of  drivers  cannot  help  bumping  on  the 

123 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

pavements  of  Belgium,  but  when  for  an  hour  each 
cobble  brings  forth  a  groan  from  the  men  inside,  it 
is  hard  to  bear.  Often  they  are  out  of  their  heads. 
They  call  then  for  their  mothers  —  they  order  the 
charge  —  to  cease  firing  —  they  see  visions  of  beau- 
tiful fields  —  of  cool  water  —  and  sometimes  they 
die  before  the  trip  is  over. 

At  Elverdinghe  the  bombardment  was  tremen- 
dous; the  church  was  crumbling  bit  by  bit.  The 
guns  were  making  too  great  a  noise  for  sleep.  About 
4  P.M.  we  started  out  to  find  something  to  eat.  A 
problem  this,  for  the  only  shop  still  open  was  run  by 
an  old  couple  too  scared  to  cook.  No  food  for  hours 
at  a  time  gives  desperate  courage,  so  on  we  went 
until  we  found  in  a  farmhouse  some  ham  and  eggs 
which  we  cooked  ourselves.  It  was  not  altogether 
pleasant,  for  the  whole  place  was  filled  with  dust, 
the  house  next  door  having  just  been  demolished  by 
a  shell.  However,  the  machines  were  untouched, 
although  a  shell  burst  near  them,  and  we  hurried 
back  for  another  night's  work. 

The  following  morning  we  decided  to  stay  in  Elver- 
dinghe and  try  to  get  a  little  sleep,  but  no  sooner  had 
we  turned  in  than  we  were  awakened  by  the  order 
to  get  out  of  the  chateau  at  once,  as  we  were  under 
fire.  While  I  was  putting  on  my  shoes  the  window 
fell  in  and  part  of  the  ceiling  came  along.  Then  an 
order  came  to  evacuate  the  place  of  all  its  wounded, 
and  we  were  busy  for  hours  getting  them  to  a  place 
of  safety.    Shells  were  falling  all  about.    One  great 

124 


THE  SECTION  IN  FLANDERS 

tree  in  front  of  me  was  cut  completely  off  and  an 
auto  near  it  was  riddled  with  the  fragments.  For 
two  weeks  this  battle  lasted.  We  watched  our  little 
village  gradually  disintegrating  under  the  German 
shells.  The  cars  were  many  times  under  more  or  less 
heavy  artillery  and  rifle  fire  and  few  there  were  with- 
out shrapnel  holes. 

The  advantage  of  our  little  cars  over  the  bigger 
and  heavier  ambulances  was  demonstrated  many 
times.  On  narrow  roads,  with  a  ditch  on  each  side, 
choked  with  troops,  ammunition  wagons,  and  ve- 
hicles of  all  sorts  moving  in  both  directions,  horses 
sometimes  rearing  in  terror  at  exploding  shells,  at 
night  in  the  pitch  dark,  except  for  the  weird  light 
from  the  illuminating  rockets,  the  little  cars  could 
squeeze  through  somehow.  If  sometimes  a  wheel  or 
two  would  fall  into  a  shell  hole,  four  or  five  willing 
soldiers  were  enough  to  lift  it  out  and  on  its  way 
undamaged.  If  a  serious  collision  occurred,  two 
hours'  work  sufficed  to  repair  it.  Always  "on  the 
job,"  always  efficient,  the  little  car,  the  subject  of  a 
thousand  jokers,  gained  the  admiration  of  every  one. 

To  most  of  the  posts  we  could  go  only  after  dark, 
as  they  were  in  sight  of  the  German  lines.  Once  we 
did  go  during  the  day  to  a  post  along  the  banks  of 
the  Yser  Canal,  but  it  was  too  dangerous  and  the 
General  ordered  such  trips  stopped.  These  few 
trips  were  splendid,  however.  To  see  the  men  in  the 
trenches  and  hear  the  screech  of  the  shells  at  the 
very  front  was  thrilling,  indeed.  At  times  a  rifle  bul- 

125 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

let  would  find  its  way  over  the  bank  and  flatten  itself 
against  a  near-by  farmhouse.  One  was  safer  at  night, 
of  course,  but  the  roads  were  so  full  of  marmite  holes 
and  fallen  trees  that  they  were  hard  to  drive  along. 
We  could  only  find  our  way  by  carefully  avoiding  the 
dark  spots  on  the  road.  Not  a  man,  however,  who 
did  not  feel  a  hundred  times  repaid  for  any  danger 
and  anxiety  of  these  trips  in  realizing  the  time  and 
suffering  he  had  saved  the  wounded.  Had  we  not 
been  there  with  our  little  cars,  the  wounded  would 
have  been  brought  back  on  hand-stretchers  or  in 
wagons  far  less  comfortable  and  much  more  slow. 

Finally  the  second  battle  of  the  Yser  was  over.  The 
front  settled  down  again  to  the  comparative  quiet  of 
trench  warfare.  Meanwhile  some  of  us  were  begin- 
ning to  feel  the  strain  and  were  ordered  back  to  Dun- 
kirk for  a  rest.  We  reached  there  in  time  to  witness 
one  of  the  most  exciting  episodes  of  the  war.  It  was 
just  at  this  time  that  the  Germans  sprang  another 
surprise  —  the  bombardment  of  Dunkirk  from  guns 
more  than  twenty  miles  away.  Shells  that  would 
obliterate  a  whole  house  or  make  a  hole  in  the  ground 
thirty  feet  across  would  fall  and  explode  without  even 
a  warning  whistle  such  as  ordinary  shells  make  when 
approaching.  We  were  in  the  station  working  on  our 
cars  at  about  9.30  in  the  morning,  when,  out  of  a 
clear,  beautiful  sky,  the  first  shell  fell.  We  thought  it 
was  only  from  an  aeroplane,  as  Dunkirk  seemed  far 
from  the  range  of  other  guns.  The  dog  seemed  to 
know  better,  for  he  jumped  off  the  seat  of  my  car  and 

126 


THE  SECTION  IN  FLANDERS 

came  whining  under  me.  A  few  minutes  later  came  a 
second  and  then  a  third  shell.  Still  not  knowing  from 
where  they  came,  we  got  out  our  machines  and  went 
to  where  the  clouds  of  smoke  gave  evidence  that  they 
had  fallen.  I  had  supposed  myself  by  this  time  some- 
thing of  a  veteran,  but  when  I  went  into  the  first 
dismantled  house  and  saw  what  it  looked  like  inside, 
the  street  seemed  by  far  a  safer  place.  The  house  was 
only  a  mass  of  torn  timbers,  dirt,  and  debris.  Even 
people  in  the  cellar  had  been  wounded.  We  worked 
all  that  day,  moving  from  place  to  place,  sometimes 
almost  smothered  by  dust  and  plaster  from  the  ex- 
plosion of  shells  in  our  vicinity.  We  cruised  slowly 
around  the  streets  waiting  for  the  shells  to  come  and 
then  went  to  see  if  any  one  had  been  hit.  Sometimes, 
when  houses  were  demolished,  we  found  every  one 
safe  in  the  cellars,  but  there  were  many  hurt,  of  course, 
and  quite  a  number  killed.  The  first  day  I  had  three 
dead  and  ten  terribly  wounded  to  carry,  soldiers, 
civilians,  and  women  too.  In  one  of  the  earlier  bom- 
bardments a  shell  fell  in  the  midst  of  a  funeral,  de- 
stroying almost  every  vestige  of  the  hearse  and  body 
and  all  of  the  mourners.  Another  day  one  of  them  hit 
a  group  of  children  at  play  in  front  of  the  billet  where 
at  one  time  we  lodged,  and  it  was  said  never  to  have 
been  known  how  many  children  had  been  killed,  so 
complete  was  their  annihilation. 

For  a  time  every  one  believed  the  shells  had  been 
fired  from  marine  guns  at  sea,  but  sooner  or  later  it 
was  proved  that  they  came  from  land  guns,  twenty  or 

127 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

more  miles  away,  and  as  these  bombardments  were 
repeated  in  succeeding  weeks,  measures  were  taken  to 
safeguard  the  public  from  them.  Although  the  shells 
weighed  nearly  a  ton,  their  passage  through  the  air 
took  almost  a  minute  and  a  half,  and  their  arrival  in 
later  days  was  announced  by  telephone  from  the 
French  trenches  as  soon  as  the  explosion  on  their  de- 
parture had  been  heard.  At  Dunkirk  a  siren  was 
blown  on  the  summit  of  a  central  tower,  giving  people 
at  least  a  minute  in  which  to  seek  shelter  in  their 
cellars  before  the  shell  arrived.  Whenever  we  heard 
the  sirens  our  duty  was  to  run  into  the  city  and  search 
for  the  injured,  and  during  the  succeeding  weeks 
many  severely  wounded  were  carried  in  our  ambu- 
lances, including  women  and  children  —  so  fre- 
quently the  victims  of  German  methods  of  warfare. 
The  American  ambulance  cars  were  the  only  cars  on 
duty  during  these  different  bombardments  and  the 
leader  of  the  Section  was  awarded  the  Croix  de 
Guerre  for  the  services  which  they  performed. 

In  the  summer  a  quieter  period  set  in.  Sunny 
weather  made  life  agreeable  and  in  their  greater  leis- 
ure the  men  were  able  to  enjoy  sea-bathing  and  walks 
among  the  sand  dunes.  A  regular  ambulance  service 
was  kept  up  in  Dunkirk  and  the  surrounding  towns, 
but  part  of  the  Section  was  moved  to  Coxyde,  a  small 
village  in  the  midst  of  the  dunes  near  the  sea  between 
the  ruined  city  of  Nieuport  and  La  Panne,  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Belgian  King  and  Queen.  Here  we 
worked  for  seven  weeks,  among  the  Zouaves  and  the 

128 


A  GROUP  OF  AMERICAN   DRIVERS   IN   NORTHERN  FRANCE 


THE   CATHEDRAL   IN  NIEUPORT,  JULY,   1915 


THE  SECTION  IN  FLANDERS 

Fusiliers  Marins,  so  famous  the  world  over  as  the 
**  heroes  of  the  Yser." 

Then  once  more  we  were  moved  to  the  district 
farther  South  known  as  Old  Flanders,  where  our 
headquarters  were  in  a  Flemish  farm,  adjacent  to  the 
town  of  Crombeke.  The  landscape  hereabout  is  flat 
as  a  billiard-table,  only  a  slight  rise  now  and  again 
breaking  the  view.  Our  work  consisted  in  bringing 
back  wounded  from  the  vicinity  of  the  Yser  Canal 
which  then  marked  the  line  of  the  enemy's  trenches, 
but  owing  to  the  flatness  of  the  country  we  had  to 
work  chiefly  at  night.  Canals  dotted  with  slow-mov- 
ing barges  are  everywhere,  and  as  our  work  was  often 
a  cross-country  affair,  looking  for  bridges  added  to  the 
length  of  our  runs.  Here  we  stayed  from  August  to 
the  middle  of  December,  during  which  we  did  the 
ambulance  work  for  the  entire  French  front  between 
the  English  and  the  Belgian  Sectors. 

Just  as  another  winter  was  setting  in  and  we  were 
once  more  beginning  to  get  hordes  of  cases  of  frozen 
feet,  we  were  ordered  to  move  again,  this  time  to  an- 
other army.  The  day  before  we  left,  Colonel  Morier 
visited  the  Section  and,  in  the  name  of  the  Army, 
thanked  the  men  in  glowing  terms,  not  only  for  the 
work  which  they  had  done,  but  for  the  way  in  which 
they  had  done  it.  He  recalled  the  great  days  of  the 
Second  Battle  of  the  Yser  and  the  Dunkirk  bombard- 
ments and  what  the  Americans  had  done;  how  he  had 
always  felt  sure  that  he  could  depend  upon  them,  and 
how  they  had  always  been  ready  for  any  service  how- 

129 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

ever  arduous  or  dull  or  dangerous  it  might  be.  He 
expressed  oflScially  and  personally  his  regret  at  our 
departure. 

We  left  on  a  day  that  was  typical  and  reminiscent 
of  hundreds  of  other  days  we  had  spent  in  Flanders. 
It  was  raining  when  our  convoy  began  to  stretch  it- 
self out  along  the  road  and  it  drizzled  all  that  day. 

Joshua  G.  B.  Campbell 


IX 

THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  A  NEW  SECTION 

The  night  before  we  were  to  leave  we  gave  a  dinner  to 
the  officers  of  the  Ambulance.  There  were  not  many 
speeches,  but  we  were  reminded  that  we  were  in 
charge  of  one  of  the  best-equipped  Sections  which 
had  as  yet  taken  the  field,  and  that  we  were  going  to 
the  front  in  an  auxiliary  capacity  to  take  the  place 
of  Frenchmen  needed  for  the  sterner  work  of  the 
trenches.  We  might  be  sent  immediately  to  the  front 
or  kept  for  a  while  in  the  rear;  but  in  any  event 
there  were  sick  and  wounded  to  be  carried  and  our  job 
was  to  help  by  obeying  orders. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  ran  through  the  Bois- 
de-Boulogne  and  over  an  historic  route  to  Versailles, 
where,  at  the  headquarters  of  the  Army  Automo- 
bile Service,  our  cars  were  numbered  with  a  military 
serial  and  the  driver  of  each  was  given  a  Livret  Matri- 
cute,  which  is  an  open  sesame  to  every  motor  park 
in  France.  Those  details  were  completed  about  ten 
o'clock,  and  we  felt  at  last  as  if  we  were  French  sol- 
diers driving  French  automobiles  on  the  way  to  our 
place  at  the  front. 

About  thirty  kilometres  outside  of  Paris  the  staff 
car  and  the  camionnette  with  the  cook  on  board  dashed 
by  us,  and  upon  our  arrival  at  a  quaint  little  village 
we  found  a  cafe  requisitioned  for  our  use  and  its 

131 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

stock  of  meat,  bread,  and  red  wine  in  profusion  at  our 
disposal.  In  the  evening  we  reached  the  town  of 
Esternay  and  there  again  found  all  prepared  for  our 
reception.  Rooms  were  requisitioned  and  the  good 
people  took  us  in  with  open  arms  and  the  warmest  of 
hospitality,  but  one  or  two  of  us  spread  our  blankets 
over  the  stretchers  in  the  back  of  our  cars,  because 
there  were  not  enough  rooms  and  beds  for  all. 

The  next  morning  was  much  colder;  there  was  some 
snow  and  later  a  heavy  fog.  Our  convoi  got  under  way 
shortly  after  breakfast  and  ran  in  record-breaking 
time,  for  we  wanted  to  finish  our  trip  that  evening. 
We  stopped  for  lunch  and  for  an  inspection  which 
consumed  two  hours,  and  starting  about  ten  o'clock 
on  the  last  stretch  of  our  journey,  drove  all  afternoon 
through  sleet,  cold,  and  snow.  At  seven  o'clock  that 
night  we  reached  Vaucouleurs,  had  our  supper,  se- 
cured sleeping  accommodations,  and  retired.  Our 
running  orders  had  been  completed;  we  had  reached 
our  ordered  destination  in  perfect  form. 

Several  days  passed.  We  were  inspected  by  gen- 
erals and  other  officers,  all  of  whom  seemed  pleased 
with  the  completeness  of  our  Section.  Yet  improve- 
ments they  said  were  still  possible  and  should  be 
made  while  we  were  at  the  park.  We  were  to  take 
care  of  a  service  of  evacuation  of  sick  in  that  district 
and  at  the  same  time  try  out  a  "heating  system." 
The  Medical  Inspector  issued  orders  to  equip  two 
ambulances  and  report  the  results.  Our  Section  Di- 
rector designed  a  system  which  uses  the  exhaust  of 

132 


SOME   OF   THE   MEMBERS   OF   SECTION  IV 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  A  NEW  SECTION 

the  motor  through  two  metal  boxes,  which  arrange- 
ment warmed  the  air  within  the  car  and  also  forced 
the  circulation  of  fresh  air.  This  was  installed  in  two 
cars  and  found  to  be  very  satisfactory,  for  in  all  kinds 
of  weather  and  temperatures  the  temperature  of 
the  ambulances  could  be  kept  between  05"^  and  70° 
Fahrenheit. 

We  were  at  this  place  in  all  six  weeks,  including 
Thanksgiving,  Christmas,  and  New  Year's.  Our 
work  consisted  of  evacuating  malades,  and  at  first  it 
offered  a  fine  opportunity  of  teaching  the  "green 
ones"  how  to  care  for  their  cars.  But  we  were  all 
soon  put  on  our  mettle.       » 

The  outlying  country  was  full  of  lowlands  and 
streams  which  in  many  places  during  the  hard  rains 
covered  the  roads  to  such  a  depth  that  the  usual  type 
of  French  cars  could  not  operate.  Our  car  suspension 
was  high,  and  we  were  able  to  perform  a  service  the 
other  cars  had  not  been  able  to  do.  We  established, 
too,  a  standard  for  prompt  service,  and  during  the 
weeks  we  were  there  it  never  became  necessary  that 
we  delay  a  call  for  service  on  account  of  "high  water." 
We  left  this  district  for  other  work  with  a  record  of 
never  having  missed  a  call,  and  the  promptness  of 
service,  day  or  night,  was  often  a  matter  of  comment 
by  the  French  officials  connected  with  this  work. 
During  the  high  water,  certain  posts  accustomed  to 
telephone  for  an  ambulance  would  ask  for  an  Amer- 
ican Ambulance  Boat,  and  the  story  was  soon  about 
that  we  had  water  lines  painted  on  the  cars  as  gauges 

133 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

for  depths  through  which  we  could  pass.  I  was  once 
in  the  middle  of  a  swirling  rapid  with  the  nearest 
"land"  one  hundred  yards  away.  But  I  had  to  get 
through,  because  I  knew  I  had  a  pneumonia  patient 
with  a  high  fever.  I  opened  the  throttle  and  charged. 
When  I  got  to  the  other  side  I  was  only  hitting  on 
two  cylinders,  but  as  mine  was  the  only  car  that  day 
to  get  through  at  all  I  boasted  long  afterwards  of  my 
ambulance's  fording  ability. 

We  were  always  looking  forward  to  being  moved 
and  attached  to  some  Division  within  the  First  Army, 
and,  as  promised,  the  order  came.  Our  service  in  this 
district  was  completed,  and  on  the  morning  of  Janu- 
ary 5  our  convoi  passed  on  its  way  to  a  new  location. 
Our  work  here  included  pastes  de  secours  that  were 
intermittently  under  fire,  and  several  of  the  places 
could  only  be  reached  at  night,  being  in  daylight 
within  plain  view  of  the  German  gunners. 
?  Here  again  we  remained  only  a  short  time.  With- 
out any  warning  we  received  an  order  one  evening  to 
proceed  the  next  day  to  Toul.  This  we  knew  meant 
7  A.M.,  for  the  French  military  day  begins  early,  and 
so  all  night  we  were  busy  filling  our  gasoline  tanks, 
cleaning  spark-plugs,  and  getting  a  dismantled  car 
in  shape  to  "roll." 

The  trip  to  Toul  was  without  incident,  and  when 
we  drew  up  at  the  caserne,  which  proved  to  be  our  fu- 
ture home,  we  reported  as  ready  for  immediate  work. 
The  next  day  five  cars  were  sent  to  a  secondary  poste 
de  secours  about  ten  kilometres  from  the  lines  and  two 

134 


fclUL^ifc 


APPROACHING   THE   HI(JH-WATEll   MARK 


POILUS"   AND  AMERICANS   SHARING   THEIR  LUNCH 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  A  NEW  SECTION 

cars  farther  forward  to  a  first-line  poste  de  secours. 
The  rest  of  the  ambulances  formed  a  reserve  at  our 
base  to  relieve  daily  those  cars  and  take  care  of  such 
emergency  calls  as  might  come  in  day  or  night.  Then 
as  soon  as  we  proved  our  worth,  we  were  given  other 
similar  points  on  the  lines,  and  gradually  took  over 
the  work  of  the  French  Section  working  with  the  next 
Army  Division. 

To-day  we  have  our  full  measure  of  shell  adven- 
tures, night  driving,  and  long  hours  at  the  wheel. 
But  these  are,  of  course,  only  the  usual  incidents  of 
life  at  the  front.  We,  too,  the  whole  Section  feels,  will 
have  our  Second  Battle  of  the  Yser,  or  our  attack  on 
Hartmannsweilerkopf ,  and  we  are  as  eager  as  any  sol- 
dier to  prove  what  our  men  and  cars  can  do  in  the  face 
of  such  emergencies. 

George  Rockwell 


X 

UN  BLESSlS  A  MONTAUVILLE 

"  Un  blessS  d  MontauvUle  —  urgent  /" 

Calls  the  sallow-faced  ielephoniste. 
The  night  is  as  black  as  hell's  black  pit, 
There 's  snow  on  the  wind  in  the  East. 

There 's  snow  on  the  wind,  there 's  rain  on  the  wind, 
The  cold's  like  a  rat  at  your  bones; 

You  crank  your  car  till  your  soul  caves  in. 
But  the  engine  only  moans. 

The  night  is  as  black  as  hell's  black  pit; 

You  feel  your  crawling  way    ^ 
Along  the  shell-gutted,  gun-gashed  road  — 

How  —  only  God  can  say. 

The  120's  and  75's 

Are  bellowing  on  the  hill; 
They  're  playing  at  bowls  with  big  trench-mines 

Down  at  the  Devil's  mill. 

Christ!  Do  you  hear  that  shrapnel  tune 
Twang  through  the  frightened  air? 

The  Boches  are  shelling  on  Montauville  — 
They're  waiting  for  you  up  there! 

"  Un  blessS  —  urgent  ?  Hold  your  lantern  up 
While  I  turn  the  damned  machine! 
^asy,  just  lift  him  easy  now! 

Why,  the  fellow's  face  is  green!" 
136 


UN  BLESSfi  A  MONTAUVILLE 

**Oui,  qa  ne  dure  pas  longtemps,  tu  sais.^' 
"Here,  cover  him  up  —  he's  cold! 
Shove  the  stretcher  —  it 's  stuck !  That 's  it  —  he 's 
in!' 
Poor  chap,  not  twenty  years  old. 

**Bon-soir^  messieurs  —  d  tout  d  Vheurel" 
And  you  feel  for  the  hell-struck  road. 
It's  ten  miles  off  to  the  surgery, 

With  Death  and  a  boy  for  your  load. 

Praise  God  for  that  rocket  in  the  trench, 

Green  on  the  ghastly  sky  —  ^ 
That  camion  was  dead  ahead! 

Let  the  ravitaUlement  by! 

** Courage,  mon  brave  I  We're  almost  there!" 
God,  how  the  fellow  groans  — 
And  you'd  give  your  heart  to  ease  the  jolt 
Of  the  ambulance  over  the  stones. 

Go  on,  go  on,  through  the  dreadful  night  — 

How  —  only  God  He  knows! 
But  now  he's  still!  Aye,  it's  terribly  still 

On  the  way  a  dead  man  goes. 

"Wake  up,  you  swine  asleep!   Come  out! 
Un  blesse  —  urgent  —  damned  bad!" 
A  lamp  streams  in  on  the  blood-stained  white 
And  the  mud-stained  blue  of  the  lad. 

"7Z  est  mort,  m'sieuT^   "So  the  poor  chap's  dead?" 
Just  there,  then,  on  the  road 
137 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

You  were  driving  a  hearse  in  the  hell-black  night. 
With  Death  and  a  boy  for  your  load. 

O  dump  him  down  in  that  yawning  shed, 

A  man  at  his  head  and  feet; 
Take  off  his  ticket,  his  clothes,  his  kit, 

And  give  him  his  winding-sheet. 

It's  just  another  poilu  that's  dead; 
You've  hauled  them  every  day 
\  Till  your  soul  has  ceased  to  wonder  and  weep 
At  war's  wild,  wanton  play. 

He  died  in  the  winter  dark,  alone. 

In  a  stinking  ambulance. 
With  God  knows  what  upon  his  lips  — 

But  on  his  heart  was  France! 

Emery  Pottle 


XI 

CHRISTMAS  EVE,  1915 

In  one  of  the  most  beautiful  countries  in  the  world, 
the  Alsatian  Valley  of  the  Thur  runs  to  where  the 
Vosges  abruptly  end  in  the  great  flat  plain  of  the 
Rhine.  In  turn  a  small  valley  descends  into  that  of 
the  Thur.  At  the  head  of  this  valley  lies  the  small 
village  of  Mollau  where  is  billeted  the  Section  Sani- 
taire  Am^ricaine  N°  3.  It  has  been  through  months 
of  laborious,  patient,  never-ceasing  trips  from  the 
valley  to  the  mountain-tops  and  back,  up  the  broad- 
ened mule-paths,  rutted  and  worn  by  a  thousand 
wheels  and  the  hoofs  of  mules,  horses,  and  oxen,  by 
hobnailed  boots  and  by  the  cars  of  the  American 
Ambulance  (for  ao  other  Section  is  equipped  with 
cars  and  men  for  such  service),  up  from  the  small 
Alsatian  towns,  leaving  the  main  valley  road  to  grind 
through  a  few  fields  of  ever-increasing  grade  on  into 
the  forest,  sometimes  pushed,  sometimes  pulled,  al- 
ways blocked  on  the  steepest  slopes  by  huge  army 
wagons  deserted  where  they  stuck,  rasping  cart- 
loads of  trench  torpedoes  on  one  side,  crumbling  the 
edge  of  the  ravine  on  the  other,  —  day  and  night  — 
night  and  day  —  in  snow  and  rain  —  and,  far  worse, 
fog  — months  of  foul  and  days  of  fair,  —  up  with  the 
interminable  caravans  of  ravitaillementy  supplies  with 

139 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

which  to  sustain  or  blast  the  human  body  (we  go 
down  with  the  human  body  once  blasted),  up  past 
small  armies  of  Alsatian  peasants  of  three  generations 
(rather  two — octogenarians  and  children),  forever 
repairing,  forever  fighting  the  wear  and  tear  of  all  that 
passes,  —  up  at  last  to  the  little  log  huts  and  rudely 
made  pastes  de  secours  at  the  mouth  of  the  trench 
"bowels," — a  silent  little  world  of  tethered  mules, 
shrouded  carts  and  hooded  figures,  lightless  by  night, 
.under  the  great  pines  where  is  a  crude  garage  usually 
filled  with  grenades  into  which  one  may  back  at  one's 
own  discretion. 

Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  wounded  or  no 
wounded,  the  little  ambulances  plied  with  their  soli- 
tary drivers.  Few  men  in  ordinary  autos  or  in  ordi- 
nary senses  travel  such  roads  by  choice,  but  all  that 
is  impossible  is  explained  by  a  simple  C'esi  la  guerre. 
Why  else  blindly  force  and  scrape  one's  way  past  a 
creaking  truck  of  shells  testing  twenty  horses,  two 
abreast,  steaming  in  their  own  cloud  of  sweaty  vapor, 
thick  as  a  Fundy  fog?  Taking  perforce  the  outside, 
the  ravine  side,  the  ambulance  passes.  More  horses 
and  wagons  ahead  in  the  dark,  another  blinding  mo- 
ment or  two,  harnesses  clash  and  rattle,  side  bolts  and 
lanterns  are  wiped  from  the  car.  It  passes  again; 
C'est  la  guerre.  Why  else  descend  endless  slopes  with 
every  brake  afire,  with  three  or  four  human  bodies  as 
they  should  not  be,  for  cargo,  where  a  broken  drive- 
shaft  leaves  but  one  instantaneous  twist  of  the  wheel 
for  salvation,  a  thrust  straight  into  the  bank,  smash- 

140 


CHRISTIVIAS  EVE,   1915 

ing  the  car,  but  saving  its  precious  load?  C'est  la 
guerre. 

The  men  in  time  grow  tired  as  do  the  machines.  A 
week  before  Christmas  they  rested  quietly  in  their 
villages  —  a  week  of  sun  and  splendid  moon,  spent 
tuning  up  their  motors  and  gears  and  jogging  about 
afoot  after  all  their  "rolling."  A  lull  in  the  fighting, 
and  after  three  weeks  of  solid  rain,  nature  smiles. 
The  Section  had  been  ordered  to  leave  shortly,  and  it 
was  only  held  for  a  long-expected  attack  which  would 
bring  them  all  together  for  once  on  the  mountains  in 
a  last  great  effort  with  the  Chasseurs  Alpins  and  the 
mountains  they  both  loved. 

On  December  21st  the  mountain  spoke  and  all  the 
cars  rolled  upwards  to  the  yoste  of  Hartmannsweiler- 
kopf ,  —  taken  and  retaken  a  score  of  times,  —  a  bare, 
brown,  blunt,  shell-ploughed  top  where  before  the 
forest  stood,  up  elbowing,  buffeting,  and  tacking  their 
way  through  battalions  of  men  and  beasts,  up  by  one 
pass  and  down  by  another  unmountable  (for  there  is 
no  going  back  against  the  tide  of  what  was  battle- 
bound)  .  From  one  mountain  slope  to  another  roared 
all  the  lungs  of  war.  For  five  days  and  five  nights  — 
scraps  of  days,  the  shortest  of  the  year,  nights  inter- 
minable —  the  air  was  shredded  with  shrieking  shells 
—  intermittent  lulls  for  slaughter  in  attack  after  the 
bombardment,  then  again  the  roar  of  the  counter- 
attack. 

All  this  time,  as  in  all  the  past  months,  Richard  Nel- 
ville  Hall  calmly  drove  his  car  up  the  winding,  shell- 

141 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

swept  artery  of  the  mountain  of  war,  —  past  crazed 
mules,  broken-down  artillery  carts,  swearing  drivers, 
stricken  horses,  wounded  stragglers  still  able  to  hob- 
ble,—  past  long  convoys  of  Boche  prisoners,  silent, 
descending  in  twos,  guarded  by  a  handful  of  men,  — 
past  all  the  personnel  of  war,  great  and  small  (for 
there  is  but  one  road,  one  road  on  which  to  travel,  one 
road  for  the  enemy  to  shell),  —  past  abris,  bomb- 
proofs,  subterranean  huts,  to  arrive  at  the  pastes  de 
secours,  where  silent  men  moved  mysteriously  in  the 
mist  under  the  great  trees,  where  the  cars  were 
loaded  with  an  ever-ready  supply  of  still  more  quiet 
figures  (though  some  made  sounds),  mere  bundles  in 
blankets.  Hall  saw  to  it  that  those  quiet  bundles  were 
carefully  and  rapidly  installed,  —  right  side  up,  for 
instance,  —  for  it  is  dark  and  the  brancardiers  are  dull 
folks,  deadened  by  the  dead  they  carry;  then  rolled 
down  into  the  valley  below,  where  little  towns  bear 
stolidly  their  daily  burden  of  shells  wantonly  thrown 
from  somewhere  in  Bocheland  over  the  mountain  to 
somewhere  in  France  —  the  bleeding  bodies  in  the 
car  a  mere  corpuscle  in  the  full  crimson  stream,  the 
ever-rolling  tide  from  the  trenches  to  the  hospital,  of 
the  blood  of  life  and  the  blood  of  death.  Once  there, 
his  wounded  unloaded,  Dick  Hall  filled  his  gasoline 
tank  and  calmly  rolled  again  on  his  way.  Two  of  his 
comrades  had  been  wounded  the  day  before,  but  Dick 
Hall  never  faltered.  He  slept  where  and  when  he 
could,  in  his  car,  at  the  poste,  on  the  floor  of  our  tem- 
porary kitchen   at   Moosch  —  dry   blankets — wet 

142 


CHRISTMAS  EVE,   1915 

blankets  —  blankets  of  mud  —  blankets  of  blood; 
contagion  was  pedantry  —  microbes  a  myth. 

At  midnight  Christmas  Eve,  he  left  the  valley  to 
get  his  load  of  wounded  for  the  last  time.  Alone, 
ahead  of  him,  two  hours  of  lonely  driving  up  the  moun- 
tain. Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  other  Christmas 
Eves,  perhaps  of  his  distant  home,  and  of  those  who 
were  thinking  of  him. 

Matter,  the  next  American  to  pass,  found  him  by 
the  roadside  halfway  up  the  mountain.  His  face  was 
calm  and  his  hands  still  in  position  to  grasp  the  wheel. 
Matter,  and  Jennings,  who  came  a  little  later,  bore 
him  tenderly  back  in  Matter's  car  to  Moosch,  where 
his  brother,  Louis  Hall,  learned  what  had  happened. 

A  shell  had  struck  his  car  and  killed  him  instantly, 
painlessly.  A  chance  shell  in  a  thousand  had  struck 
him  at  his  post,  in  the  morning  of  his  youth. 

Up  on  the  mountain  fog  was  hanging  over  Hart- 
mann's  Christmas  morning,  as  if  Heaven  wished 
certain  things  obscured.  The  trees  were  sodden  with 
dripping  rain.  Weather,  sight,  sound,  and  smell  did 
their  all  to  sicken  mankind,  when  news  was  brought 
to  us  that  Dick  Hall  had  fallen  on  the  Field  of  Honor. 
No  man  said,  "Merry  Christmas,"  that  day.  No 
man  could  have  mouthed  it.  With  the  fog  forever 
closing  in,  with  the  mountain  shaken  by  a  double 
bombardment  as  never  before,  we  sat  all  day  in  the 
little  log  hut  by  the  stove  thinking  first  of  Dick 

143 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Hall,  then  of  Louis  Hall,  his  brother,  down  in  the 
valley.  .  .  . 

Gentlemen  at  home,  you  who  tremble  with  concern 
at  overrun  putts,  who  bristle  at  your  partner's  play 
at  auction,  who  grow  hoarse  at  football  games,  know 
that  among  you  was  one  who  played  for  greater  goals 
—  the  lives  of  other  men.  There  in  the  small  hours  of 
Christmas  morning,  where  mountain  fought  moun- 
tain, on  that  hard-bitten  pass  under  the  pines  of  the 
Vosgian  steeps,  there  fell  a  very  modest  and  valiant 
gentleman. 

Dick  Hall,  we  who  knew  you,  worked  with  you, 
played  with  you,  ate  with  you,  slept  with  you,  we  who 
took  pleasure  in  your  company,  in  your  modesty,  in 
your  gentle  manners,  in  your  devotion  and  in  your 
youth  —  we  still  pass  that  spot,  and  we  salute.  Our 
breath  comes  quicker,  our  eyes  grow  dimmer,  we  grip 
the  wheel  a  little  tighter  —  we  pass  —  better  and 
stronger  men. 

Richard  Hall  was  buried  with  honors  of  war  in  the 
Valley  of  Saint-Amarin,  in  the  part  of  Alsace  which 
once  more  belongs  to  France.  His  grave,  in  a  crowded 
military  cemetery,  is  next  that  of  a  French  officer  who 
fell  the  same  morning.  It  bears  the  brief  inscription, 
"Richard  Hall,  an  American  who  died  for  France." 
Simple  mountain  people  in  the  only  part  of  Germany 
where  foreign  soldiers  are  to-day  brought  to  the  grave 
many  wreaths  of  native  flowers  and  Christmas  greens. 
The  funeral  service  was  held  in  a  little  Protestant 

144 


RICHARD   HALL 


CHRISTMAS  EVE,;i915 

chapel,  five  miles  down  the  valley.  At  the  conclusion 
of  the  service  Hall's  citation  was  read  and  the  Cross 
of  War  pinned  on  the  coffin.  On  the  way  to  the  ceme- 
tery sixteen  soldiers,  belonging  to  a  battalion  on  leave 
from  the  trenches,  marched  in  file  on  each  side  with 
arms  reversed.  The  medecin  chef  spoke  as  follows:  — 

Messieurs  —  Camarades  — 

C'est  un  supreme  hommage  de  reconnaissance  et 
d'affection  que  nous  rendons,  devant  cette  fosse 
fraichement  creusee,  a  ce  jeune  homme  —  je  dirais 
volon tiers  —  cet  enfant  —  tombe  hier  pour  la  France 
sur  les  pentes  de  I'Hartmannswillerkopf.  .  .  .  Ai-je 
besoin  de  vous  rappeler  la  douloureuse  emotion  que 
nous  avons  tons  ressentis  en  apprenant  hier  matin 
que  le  conducteur  Richard  Hall,  de  la  Section  Sani- 
taire  Americaine  N**  3,  venait  d'etre  mortellement 
frappe  par  un  eclat  d'obus,  pres  du  poste  de  secours 
de  Thomannsplats  oil  il  montait  chercher  des  blesses? 

A  TAmbulance  3/58,  ou  nous  eprouvons  pour  nos 
camarades  americains  une  sincere  amitie  basee  sur  des 
mois  de  vie  commune  pendant  laquelle  il  nous  fut 
permis  d'apprecier  leur  endurance,  leur  courage,  et 
leur  devouement,  le  conducteur  Richard  Hall  etait 
estime  entre  tous  pour  sa  modestie,  sa  douceur,  sa 
complaisance. 

A  peine  sorti  de  Tuniversite  de  Dartmouth,  dans 
la  generosite  de  son  coeur  d'adolescent,  il  apporta  a 
la  France  le  precieux  concours  de  sa  charite  en  venant 
relever,  sur  les  champs  de  bataille  d'Alsace,  ceux 

145 


FRIENDS   OF  FRANCE 

de  nos  vaillants  soldats  blesses  en  combattant  pour  la 
patrie  bien-aimee. 

II  est  mort  en  "Chevalier  de  la  Bienfaisance"  — 
en  "Americain"  —  pour  raccomplissement  d'une 
ceuvre  de  bonte  et  de  charite  chretienne! 

Aux  etres  chers  qu'il  a  laisses  dans  sa  patrie,  au 
Michigan,  a  ses  parents  desoles,  a  son  frere  aine,  qui, 
au  milieu  de  nous,  montre  une  si  stoique  douleur,  nos 
hommages  et  I'expression  de  notre  tristesse  sont  bien 
sinceres  et  bien  vif s ! 

Conducteur  Richard  Hall,  vous  allez  reposer  ici  a 
I'ombre  du  drapeau  tricolore,  aupres  de  tons  ces 
vaillants  dont  vous  etes  Temule.  .  .  .  Vous  faites  a 
juste  titrepartiedeleurbataillonsacre! .  .  .  Seul,votre 
corps,  glorieusement  mutile,  disparait  —  votre  ame 
est  remonte  trouver  Dieu  —  votre  souvenir,  lui,  reste 
dans  nos  coeurs,  imperissable!  .  .  .  Les  Frangais 
n'oublient  pas! 

Conducteur  Richard  Hall  —  Adieu!  ^ 


^  [Translation] 

*' Messieurs  —  Comrades:  — ■ 

"We  are  here  to  offer  our  last,  supreme  homage  of  gratitude  and  affec- 
tion, beside  this  freshly  dug  grave,  to  this  young  man  —  I  might  well 
say,  this  boy  — ■  who  fell  yesterday,  for  France,  on  the  slopes  of  Hart- 
mannsweilerkopf.  Do  I  need  to  recall  the  painful  emotion  that  we  all 
felt  when  we  learned  yesterday  morning  that  Driver  Richard  Hall,  of  the 
American  Sanitary  Section  N"  3,  had  been  mortally  wounded  by  the 
bursting  of  a  shell,  near  the  dressing-station  at  Thomannsplats,  where  he 
had  gone  to  take  up  the  wounded? 

In  Ambulance  3/58,  where  we  cherish  for  our  American  comrades  a 
sincere  affection  based  upon  months  of  life  in  common,  during  which  we 
have  had  full  opportunity  to  estimate  truly  their  endurance,  their  cour- 
agCj  and  their  devotion.  Driver  Richard  Hall  was  regarded  with  peculiar 
esteem  for  his  modesty,  bis  sweet  disposition,  his  obligingness. 

146 


CHRISTMAS  EVE,   1915 

"Barely  graduated  from  Dartmouth  College,  in  the  noble  enthusiams 
of  his  youth  he  brought  to  France  the  invaluable  cooperation  of  his 
charitable  heart  —  coming  hither  to  gather  up  on  the  battlefields  of 
Alsace  those  of  our  gallant  troops  who  were  wounded  fighting  for  their 
beloved  country. 

"He  died  like  a  'Chevalier  de  la  Bienfaisance,'  like  an  American,  while 
engaged  in  a  work  of  kindness  and  Christian  charity ! 

"To  the  dear  ones  whom  he  has  left  in  his  own  land,  in  Michigan,  to 
his  grief-stricken  parents,  to  his  older  brother  who  displays  here  among 
us  such  stoicism  in  his  grief,  our  respect  and  our  expressions  of  sorrow 
are  most  sincere  and  heartfelt. 

"Driver  Richard  Hall,  you  are  to  be  laid  to  rest  here,  in  the  shadow  of 
the  tri-colored  flag,  beside  all  these  brave  fellows,  whose  gallantry  you 
have  emulated.  You  are  justly  entitled  to  make  one  of  their  consecrated 
battalion!  Your  body  alone,  gloriously  mutilated,  disappears;  your  soul 
has  ascended  to  God;  your  memory  remains  in  our  hearts  —  imperish- 
able!—  Frenchmen  do  not  forget!  * 

"Driver  Richard  Hall  —  farewell!" 


'^^^fp 


XII 

THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

This  chapter  is  made  up  of  excerpts  from  letters  and 
diaries  written  by  men  in  the  Field  Service,  which,  in 
one  way  or  another,  have  found  their  way  into  Mr. 
Andrew's  office.  They  are  presented  as  a  series  of 
snapshot  views  taken  by  men  in  the  course  of  daily 
work  and  no  attempt  has  been  made  to  weave  them 
into  a  connected  narrative. 


Our  Ambulances 

A  word  about  the  structure  of  the  small  motor  am- 
bulances as  perfected  by  our  experience  during  the 
war.  Upon  the  chassis  as  received  from  the  States  is 
built  a  strong,  light  ambulance  body  of  tough  wood 
and  canvas.  The  design  provides  for  the  utmost  econ- 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

omy  of  space,  and  although  the  cubical  contents  are 
perhaps  not  more  than  half  of  that  of  the  body  of  an 
ordinary  ambulance  of  the  kind  constructed  to  carry 
four  stretchers,  the  typical  cars  of  the  American  Am- 
bulance can  carry  three.  Two  stretchers  stand  on  the 
floor  of  the  car  and  the  third  is  supported  under  the 
roof  by  a  simple  and  ingenious  contrivance  designed 
by  one  of  the  Section  leaders  to  meet  the  special  needs 
of  the  service.  When  not  in  use  this  mechanism  folds 
up  and  rests  flat  against  the  sides  of  the  ambulance, 
and  with  a  couple  of  seats  added,  which  can  be  fixed 
in  position  immediately,  the  car  is  transformed  in  a 
moment  into  an  ambulance  for  four  sitting  cases.  In 
addition  to  these  room  has  been  found,  by  means  of 
specially  constructed  seats  placed  by  the  driver,  for 
three  more  sitters,  making  a  total  of  three  lying  and 
three  sitting  cases  for  each  trip.  In  emergency  as 
many  as  ten  wounded  men  have  been  carried  at  one 
time,  the  inside  of  the  car  being  crowded  to  its  capac- 
ity, and  the  foot-plates  and  mud-guards  serving  as 
extra  seats. 

An  ambulance  loaded  like  this  is  an  interesting  sight. 
The  driver  seems  almost  buried  under  his  freight;  he 
has  not  an  inch  of  room  more  than  is  necessary  for  the 
control  of  his  car.  Covered  with  mud,  blood-stained, 
with  startlingly  white  bandages  against  their  tanned 
skin;  with  puttees  loose  and  torn,  heavy  boots,  shape- 
less uniforms  gray  from  exposure,  and  with  patient, 
suffering  faces  still  bearing  the  shock  and  horror  of 
bombardment,  the  wounded  roll  slowly  from  the  posies 

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FRIENDS  OF, FRANCE 

de  secours  to  shelter  and  care,  shivering,  maybe,  in  the 
cold  and  grayness  of  dawn,  but  always  with  a  hand 
to  help  each  other  and  a  word  of  thanks  to  the  driver. 

A.   P.  A. 


How  the  Cars  reach  Paris 

Towards  the  end  of  February  three  of  us  went  down 
to  Havre  to  unpack  eight  cars  which  had  just  arrived. 
In  three  days  the  work  was  done,  and  as  I  was  one  of 
the  first  drivers  to  get  to  work,  I  was  able  to  choose 
the  car  I  liked  best  for  the  trip  down  to  Paris.  Un- 
fortunately it  rained  steadily  during  our  passage 
through  Normandy,  so  that  we  could  not  appreciate 
to  the  full  one  of  the  most  beautiful  countries  in  the 
world.  After  spending  the  night  in  Rouen,  we  set  out 
for  Paris,  which  was  reached  in  good  time,  my  only 
mishap  being  a  puncture. 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

In  Paris  I  drove  the  little  car,  with  its  so^p-box 
body,  as  a  light  delivery  wagon  to  do  odd  jobs  in 
town,  to  give  driving  lessons,  to  carry  fellows  going  to 
the  front  as  far  as  the  station,  and  other  similar  tasks, 
for  some  two  weeks,  when  it  went  to  the  carriage- 
builders.  As  it  happened,  this  particular  carrosder, 
who  had  not  been  employed  by  the  American  Ambu- 
lance before,  turned  out  the  best  and  strongest  bodies 
for  the  five  cars  I  was  interested  in,  among  which  was 
the  one  presented  by  St.  Paul's  School. 

Henry  M.  Suckley 


En  route  for  the  Front 

It  appeals  to  the  French  people  that  so  many  Amer- 
icans are  standing  by  them  in  their  tragic  hours.  The 
little  that  we  in  America  have  actually  done  seems 
small,  indeed,  compared  with  the  size  of  the  situation, 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

but  its  main  object  and  its  main  effect  are  to  show  to 
the  people  of  France  that  we  believe  in  them  and  in 
the  justice  of  their  cause;  that  we  still  remember  what 
they  did  for  us  in  the  darkest  hour  of  our  own  his- 
tory; and  that,  as  members  of  a  great  sister  Repub- 
lic, om*  hearts  and  hopes  are  with  them  in  this  most 
unnecessary  war.  All  day  long,  wherever  we  have 
stopped,  people  have  come  out  and  offered  us  flow- 
ers and  fruit  and  food  and  friendly  greetings,  very 
much  as  our  ancestors  of  a  hundred  and  forty  years 
ago  must  have  offered  them  to  the  compatriots  of 
Lafayette. 

Our  trip  has  been  full  of  touching  and  appealing 
impressions  crowding  one  upon  the  other.  As  our 
picturesque  convoy  ran  through  the  little  villages, 
and  we  stopped  here  and  there  for  some  one  to  clean 
a  spark-plug  or  mend  a  tire,  children  crowded  around 
us,  and  asked  questions  about  America,  and  we  often 
got  them  to  sing  the  "Marseillaise"  or  some  of  the 
topical  songs  of  the  moment  about  "  Guillaume"  and 
the  "Boches"  (people  in  France  seldom  speak  of  the 
Germans  as  such,  they  call  them  simply  "Boches" 
which  seems  to  mean  "brutal,  stupid  people").  After 
a  long,  hard  drive  we  reached  Saint-Omer  about 
eleven.  The  hotels  were  full,  the  restaurants  were 
closed,  and  no  provision  had  been  made  either  for  our 
food  or  our  lodging.  So  we  wheeled  into  the  public 
square  and  slept  on  the  stretchers  in  our  ambulances 
—  without  other  food  than  the  chocolate  and  crack- 
ers we  had  in  our  pockets.   All  day  yesterday,  as  we 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

ran  past  the  quaint  towns  and  villages,  we  could  hear 
the  great  cannon  on  the  front  booming  like  distant 
thunder.  It  is  hard  to  realize  that  for  five  hundred 
and  more  miles  these  cannon  are  booming  day  after 
day  all  day  long,  and  often  throughout  the  night. 

A.  P.  A. 


S^H 


First  Impressions 

After  a  few  more  short  delays  (inseparable  from 
times  and  states  of  war),  the  Section  at  last  found 
itself  within  a  mile  of  one  of  the  most  stubbornly  con- 
tested points  of  the  line.  In  a  little  town  not  far  from 
the  front  they  came  in  swift  progression  into  hard 
work,  bombardment,  and  appreciation  by  the  army. 

Pont-a-Mousson  is  in  a  district  in  which  low  hills, 
many  of  them  covered  with  thick  woods,  lie  along  the 
valley  of  the  Moselle.    Down  towards  the  river,  on 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

both  banks  and  at  right  angles  to  it,  stretch  the  inter- 
minable lines  of  trenches,  east  and  west;  batteries  of 
guns  crown  the  adjacent  hills  for  two  or  three  miles 
back  from  the  trenches,  alike  in  the  enemy's  country 
and  that  of  the  French;  and  intermittently,  day  and 
night,  these  batteries  defy  and  seek  to  destroy  each 
other,  the  valleys  echoing  with  the  roar  of  their  guns 
and  the  sharp  scream  of  shells  high  overhead.  Back 
of  the  trenches  for  several  miles  every  village  is  full 
of  soldiers  resting  or  in  reserve;  the  roads  are  filled 
with  marching  troops,  horses,  mule  trains,  baggage 
wagons,  guns  and  ammunition  carts.  At  every  cross- 
road stand  sentries  with  bayonets.  After  sunset  the 
whole  country  is  dark,  no  lights  being  permitted,  but 
the  roads  are  more  crowded  than  by  day,  as  it  is  under 
cover  of  night  that  troops  and  guns  are  generally 
moved.  The  whole  country  near  to  the  active  Hues  is 
one  great  theatre  of  war.  Everywhere  are  sights  and 
sounds  forbidding  a  moment's  forgetfulness  of  the 
fact.  Yet  —  and  it  is  one  of  the  most  curious  and 
touching  things  one  sees  —  the  peasant  life  goes  on 
but  little  changed.  Old  men  dig  in  their  gardens, 
women  gather  and  sell  their  vegetables,  girls  stand 
in  the  evenings  at  their  cottage  doors,  children  run 
about  and  play  in  the  streets.  Often,  not  more  than 
two  miles  away,  a  desperate  attack  may  be  in  pro- 
gress. Between  the  concussions  of  the  cannon  throw- 
ing their  missiles  from  the  hills  over  the  village  can  be 
heard  the  rattle  of  rifle-fire  and  the  dull  pop-pop-pop 
of  the  mitrailleuses.  In  an  hour  or  two,  scores,  maybe 

154 


o 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

hundreds,  of  wounded  men,  or  lines  of  prisoners,  will 
file  through  the  village,  and  at  any  moment  shells 
may  burst  over  the  street,  killing  soldiers  or  women 
indifferently,  but  the  old  man  still  digs  in  his  garden, 
the  girl  still  gossips  at  the  door. 

J.  Halcott  Glover 


The  Daily  Programme 

About  6  o'clock  those  sleeping  at  the  caserne  get  up 
and  dress,  rolling  up  their  blanket-rolls,  and  coming 
into  the  dining-room  for  coffee  at  about  6.30.  To- 
wards 7,  the  men  who  have  slept  at  the  different 
pastes  arrive.  After  coffee,  ambulances  which  are  to 
be  stationed  elsewhere  for  service  as  required,  leave 
the  caserne.  Men  on  day  duty  see  to  their  cars  and 
await  calls  by  telephone  which  are  received  by  our 
French  assistant.  Particulars  are  entered  by  him 
upon  a  printed  slip  and  given  to  the  driver  next  in 
turn  to  go  out.  On  the  driver's  return,  this  slip  is 
handed  in  with  the  number  of  wounded  carried  and 
the  figures  are  entered  in  our  record  book.  At  11 
o'clock  everybody  comes  in  for  dejeuner.  The  dining- 
room  —  a  large  apartment  capable  of  holding  three 
times  our  number  —  has  been  pleasantly^ decorated 
with  festoons  and  flags  by  our  orderly,  Mignot.  The 
afternoon  is  taken  up  in  evacuating  wounded  to 
Belleville,  bringing  in  fresh  wounded  as  required,  or, 
in  slack  moments,  in  reading,  writing,  or  sleeping. 
We  have  a  little  garden  and  easy-chairs,  and,  consid- 

155 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

ering  the  state  of  war  and  the  very  close  proximity  of 
the  enemy,  it  is  remarkable  that  we  should  have  so 
many  luxuries.  At  6  we  have  dinner,  after  which  men 
who  are  to  sleep  at  Dieulouard  go  off  for  the  night. 
By  9  the  rest  of  us  have  generally  turned  in.  One  car 
every  night  waits  at  Montauville,  and,  should  there 
be  too  many  wounded  for  one  car  to  convey,  as  many 
more  are  as  required  are  summoned  by  telephone,. 
During  severe  attacks,  all  cars  may  be  called  for:  in 
which  case  one  man  is  appointed  to  take  charge  of  ar- 
rivals and  despatches  at  Montauville,  leaving  drivers 
free  to  come  and  go  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 

J.  H.  G. 


Handling  the  Wounded 

The  wounded  are  brought  by  the  army  hrancardiers 
direct  from  the  trenches  to  one  or  other  of  the  posies 
de  secours  established  in  the  villages  behind  the 
trenches  and  are  carried  on  stretchers  slung  between 
two  wheels.  Two  men  convey  them.  They  usually 
come  two  or  three  kilometres  over  rough  tracks  or 
open  fields  from  the  lines  where  they  fell.  The  work 
of  the  hrancardiers  is  exhausting  and  dangerous,  and 
enough  cannot  be  said  in  their  praise.  This  war  being 
one  of  barbarous  weapons,  the  condition  of  the 
wounded  is  often  terrible.  Shells,  shrapnel,  hand- 
grenades,  and  mines  account  for  most  of  the  injuries, 
and  these  are  seldom  clean  wounds  and  often  very 
serious.  The  wounded  arrive,  after  rough  dressing  on 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

the  field,  sometimes  so  covered  with  blood  and  dirt 
as  to  be  unrecognizable.  Often  they  are  unconscious, 
and  not  unfrequently  they  die  before  adequate  help 
can  be  got.  One  hears  few  utterances  of  pain,  and 
no  complaints.  Stretchers  are  carried  into  the  poste 
de  secoursy  where  a  doctor  examines  the  wound  and 
re-dresses  it  if  necessary;  the  blesse  is  then  brought  out 
and  given  to  us.  Our  cars  can  carry  three  stretcher 
cases  or  five  or  six  sitting;  only  the  most  seriously 
injured  can  be  allowed  the  luxury  of  lying  down. 
Our  business  then  is  to  convey  them  gently,  and  as 
fast  as  is  consistent  with  gentleness,  to  hospitals. 
Here  the  wounded  receive  further  tre^^tment;  or,  if 
their  case  is  hopeless,  are  allowed  peacefully  to  die. 
The  following  day,  or  perhaps  several  days  after- 
wards, if  the  wounded  man  is  not  fit  to  travel,  he 
comes  into  our  hands  again,  to  be  carried  to  the 
trains  sanitaires  for  evacuation  to  one  of  the  many 
hospitals  throughout  France. 

J.  H.  G. 


The  Wounded 

One  would  like  to  say  a  little  about  the  wounded 
men,  of  whom  we  have,  by  this  time,  seen  some  thou- 
sands. But  it  is  difficult  to  separate  one's  impressions : 
the  wounded  come  so  fast  and  in  such  numbers,  and 
one  is  so  closely  concerned  with  the  mechanical  part 
of  their  transportation,  that  very  soon  one  ceases  to 
have  many  human  emotions  concerning  them.    And 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

there  is  a  pitiful  sameness  in  their  appearance.  They 
are  divided,  of  course,  into  the  two  main  classes  of 
** sitting"  and  "lying."  Many  of  the  former  have 
come  down  on  foot  from  the  trenches;  one  sees  them 
arrive  in  the  street  at  Montauville  looking  round  — 
perhaps  a  little  lost  —  for  the  poste  de  secours  ap- 
pointed for  this  particular  regiment  or  company. 
Sometimes  they  help  one  another;  often  they  walk 
with  an  arm  thrown  round  some  friendly  shoulder. 
I  have  seen  men  come  in,  where  I  have  stood  waiting 
in  the  poste  de  secours,  and  throw  themselves  down  ex- 
hausted, with  blood  trickling  from  their  loose  bandages 
into  the  straw.  They  have  all  the  mud  and  sunburn 
of  their  trench  life  upon  them  —  a  bundle  of  heavy, 
shapeless  clothes  —  always  the  faded  blue  of  their 
current  uniform  —  and  a  pair  of  hobnailed  boots,  very 
expressive  of  fatigue.  They  smell  of  sweat,  camp-fire 
smoke,  leather,  and  tobacco  —  all  the  same,  whether 
the  man  be  a  peasant  or  a  professor  of  mathematics. 
Sometimes,  perhaps  from  loss  of  blood,  or  nervous 
shock,  their  teeth  chatter.  They  are  all  very  subdued 
in  manner.  One  is  struck  by  their  apparent  freedom 
from  pain.  With  the  severely  wounded,  brought  in 
on  stretchers,  it  is  occasionally  otherwise.  If  it  is 
diflBcult  to  differentiate  between  man  and  man  among 
the  "sitting"  cases,  it  is  still  more  so  with  the  "ly- 
ing." Here  there  is  a  blood-stained  shape  under  a 
coat  or  a  blanket,  a  glimpse  of  waxy  skin,  a  mass  of 
bandage.  When  the  uniform  is  gray,  men  say 
*'Boche^^  and  draw  round  to  look.  Then  one  sees  the 

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EVACUATING  A   HOSPITAL 


TRANSFERRING   THE   WOUNDED  TO   THE   TRAIN 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

closely  cropped  bullet  head  of  the  German.  One 
might  describe  the  ghastliness  of  wounds,  but  enough 
has  been  said.  At  first,  they  cause  a  shudder,  and  I 
have  had  gusts  of  anger  at  the  monstrous  folly  in  man 
that  results  in  such  senseless  suffering,  but  very 
soon  the  fatalism  which  is  a  prevailing  tone  of  men's 
thoughts  in  this  war  dulls  one's  perceptions.  It  is  just 
another  hlesse  —  the  word  '' gravement,''  spoken  by 
the  infirmier,  as  they  bring  him  out  to  the  ambu- 
lance, carries  only  the  idea  of  a  little  extra  care  in 
driving.  The  last  we  see  of  them  is  at  the  hospital. 
At  night  we  have  to  wake  up  the  men  on  duty;  there. 
The  stretcher  is  brought  into  the  dimly  lighted,  close- 
smelling  room  where  the  wounded  are  received,  and 
laid  down  on  the  floor.  In  the  hopeless  cases  there 
follows  the  last  phase.  The  man  is  carried  out  and 
lies,  with  others  like  himself,  apart  from  human  inter- 
est till  death  claims  him.  Then  a  plain,  unpainted 
coffin,  the  priest,  a  little  procession,  a  few  curious 
eyes,  the  salute,  and  the  end.  His  grave,  marked  by  a 
small  wooden  cross  on  which  his  name  and  grade  are 
written,  lies  unnoticed,  the  type  of  thousands,  by  the 
roadside  or  away  among  the  fields.  Everywhere  in 
the  war  zone  one  passes  these  graves.  A  great  belt 
of  them  runs  from  Switzerland  to  the  sea  across 
France  and  Belgium.  There  are  few  people  living  in 
Europe  who  have  not  known  one  or  more  of  the  men 
who  lie  within  it. 

J.  H.  G. 


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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Night  Duty 

A  few  days  after  our  arrival  at  the  front  I  had  my 
first  experience  of  a  night  call.  It  was  very  dark  and 
we  had  to  feel  our  way  forward.  Nothing  gives  one  a 
stronger  sense  of  the  nearness  of  war  than  such  a  trip. 
The  dark  houses,  deserted  streets,  the  dim  shape  of 
the  sentry  at  the  end  of  the  town,  the  night  scents  of 
the  fields  as  one  passes  slowly  along  them,  are  things 
not  to  be  forgotten.  We  strained  our  eyes  in  the  dark- 
ness to  avoid  other  vehicles,  all,  like  our  own,  going 
without  lights.  In  those  days,  not  being  so  well  known 
as  we  are  now,  the  sentries  challenged  us :  their  ^'Halte- 
Zd"  in  the  darkness  brought  us  frequently  to  an 
abrupt  stop.  As  we  drew  near  the  trenches  we  heard 
the  guns  very  clearly,  and  saw  over  the  crest  of  a  hill 
the  illuminating  rockets  with  which  both  armies 
throw  a  glare  over  their  attacks.  They  throw  a  green- 
ish and  ghastly  light  over  the  country,  hanging  in  the 
air  a  few  seconds  before  falling.  At  our  destination 
everything  was  dark.  We  left  the  cars  in  the  road  and 
went  up  under  the  trees  to  the  poste  de  secours.  Here 
we  found  some  men  sleeping  on  straw,  but  had  to 
wait  close  upon  two  hours  before  our  wounded  were 
ready.  From  time  to  time  a  battery  of  75's  startled  us 
in  the  woods  near  by.  At  last  in  a  drizzling  rain  we 
came  back  to  quarters,  passing  several  small  bodies 
of  soldiers  marching  silently  up  to  the  trenches. 
Another  night,  remaining  near  the  trenches  till  half- 
past  four  in  the  morning,  I  saw  the  wounded  brought 
in,  in  the  gray  of  dawn,  from  a  series  of  attacks  and 

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counter-attacks.  I  had  been  waiting  in  one  of  the 
posies  de  secours,  where,  by  candlehght,  particulars 
were  being  written  down  of  the  various  wounded. 
The  surgeon,  in  a  long  white  linen  coat,  in  many 
places  stained  with  blood,  was  busy  with  his  scissors. 
Many  wounded  lay  on  straw  round  the  room,  and  at 
rare  intervals  one  heard  a  groan.  The  air  was  warm 
and  heavy,  full  of  the  smell  of  wounds  and  iodine.  A 
window  was  opened,  the  light  of  morning  making  the 
candles  dim  and  smoky,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  go  out 
into  the  cool  air.  The  wounded  being  brought  in 
looked  cold  and  wretched.  There  were  many  who  had 
been  hit  in  the  face  or  head  —  more  than  one  was 
blind. 

I  overheard  a  few  words  spoken  between  a  hran- 
cardier  and  a  wounded  man  who  —  rare  sign  of  suffer- 
ing—  was  weeping.  "You  will  be  safe  now  —  you 
are  going  to  your  wife,"  spoken  in  tones  of  sympathy 
for  comfort,  and  the  reply :  "No,  no,  I  am  dying. "... 
Later,  as  the  sun  was  rising  and  lifting  the  blue  mist 
in  the  hollows  of  the  hill,  I  watched  some  shells  burst- 
ing in  a  field;  a  brown  splash  of  earth,  a  ball  of  smoke 
which  drifted  slowly  away. 

J.  H.  G. 


Fitting  into  the  Life 

During  the  months  of  May,  June,  and  July  the 
Section,  increased  in  number  to  twenty  cars,  broke  all 
records  of  the  American  Ambulance.   The  work  was 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

sp  organized  and  men  brought  such  devotion  to  their 
duties  that  it  may  be  said  that,  of  all  the  wounded 
brought  down  from  daily  and  nightly  fighting,  not  one 
was  kept  waiting  so  much  as  ten  minutes  for  an  am- 
bulance to  take  him  to  the  hospital. 

Where,  before  the  coming  of  the  American  cars, 
ambulances  came  up  to  the  'posies  de  secours  only 
when  called,  and  at  night  came  after  a  delay  occa- 
sioned by  waking  a  driver  sleeping  some  miles  away, 
who  thereupon  drove  his  car  to  the  place  where  he  was 
needed,  the  American  Section  established  a  service  on 
the  spot,  so  that  the  waiting  was  done  by  the  driver 
of  the  ambulance  and  not  by  the  wounded.  The 
effect  of  this  service  was  immediate  in  winning  confi- 
dence and  liking,  of  which  the  members  of  the  Sec- 
tion were  justly  proud.  Their  swift,  light,  easy-run- 
ning cars  were  a  great  improvement  on  the  old  and 
clumsy  ambulances  which  had  served  before  them. 
In  the  early  days,  when  these  old  ambulances  were 
working  side  by  side  with  ours,  wounded  men  being 
brought  from  the  trenches  would  ask  to  be  carried  by 
the  Americans.  That  the  latter  should  have  come  so 
far  to  help  them,  should  be  so  willing  to  lose  sleep  and 
food  that  they  should  be  saved  from  pain,  and  should 
take  the  daily  risks  of  the  soldiers  without  necessity 
or  recompense  seemed  to  touch  them  greatly.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  words  ''Ambulance  Americaine^^ 
would  pass  a  man  by  any  sentry  post.  The  mot,  or 
password,  was  never  demanded.  And  in  their  times  of 
leisure,  when  others  were  on  duty,  men  could  eat  with 

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the  soldiers  in  their  popotes  and  become  their  friends. 
Many  of  them  have  become  known  and  welcomed  in 
places  miles  apart  and  have  formed  friendships  which 
will  last  long  after  the  war. 

J.  H.  G. 


Paysages  de  Guerre 

I  went  early  one  morning  with  one  of  our  men,  by 
invitation  of  an  engineer  whose  acquaintance  we  had 
made,  up  to  the  part  of  the  Bois-le-Pretre  known  as 
the  Quart-en-Reserve.  We  started  at  thrqe,  march- 
ing up  with  a  party  going  up  to  identify  and  bury  the 
dead.  The  sites  of  all  the  trenches,  fought  over  during 
the  winter,  were  passed  on  the  way,  and  we  went 
through  several  encampments  where  soldiers  were 
still  sleeping,  made  of  little  log  houses  and  dug-outs, 
such  as  the  most  primitive  men  lived  in.  It  was  a 
gray  morning,  with  a  nip  in  the  air;  the  fresh  scents  of 
the  earth  and  the  young  green  were  stained  with  the 
smoke  of  the  wood  fires  and  the  mixed  smells  of  a 
camp.  After  a  spell  of  dry  weather,  the  rough  tracks 
we  followed  in  our  course  through  the  wood  were  pas- 
sable enough;  the  deep  ruts  remaining  and  here  and 
there  a  piece  of  soft  ground  gave  us  some  idea  of  the 
mud  through  which  the  soldiers  must  have  labored  a 
few  weeks  before.  And  it  is  by  such  tracks  that  the 
wounded  are  brought  down  from  the  trenches  1  Small 
wonder  that  when  the  stretcher  is  laid  down  its  occu- 
pant is  occasionally  found  to  be  dead.  In  about  half 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

an  hour,  nearing  the  top  of  the  hill  which  the  Bois-le- 
Pretre  covers,  we  noticed  a  change  both  in  the  scene 
and  in  the  air.  The  leafage  was  thinner,  and  there 
was  a  look,  not  very  definable  yet,  of  blight.  The 
path  we  were  following  sank  deeper,  and  became  a 
trench.  For  some  hundreds  of  yards  we  walked  in 
single  file,  seeing  nothing  but  the  narrow  ditch  wind- 
ing before  us,  and  bushes  and  trees  overhead.  With 
every  step  our  boots  grew  heavier  with  thick,  sticky 
mud.  And  a  faint  perception  of  unpleasant  smells 
which  had  been  with  us  for  some  minutes  became  a 
thing  which  had  to  be  fought  against.  Suddenly  the 
walls  of  our  trench  ended,  and  in  front  of  us  was  an 
amazing  confusion  of  smashed  trees,  piles  of  earth 
and  rock  —  as  though  some  giant  had  passed  that 
way,  idly  kicking  up  the  ground  for  his  amusement. 
We  climbed  out  of  the  remains  of  our  trench  and 
looked  round.  One  had  read,  in  official  reports  of  the 
war,  of  situations  being  "prepared"  by  artillery  for 
attack.  We  saw  before  us  what  that  preparation 
means.  An  enlarged  photograph  of  the  mountains  on 
the  moon  gives  some  idea  of  the  appearance  of  shell- 
holes.  Little  wonder  that  attacks  are  usually  success- 
ful: the  wonder  is  that  any  of  the  defenders  are  left 
alive.  The  difficulty  is  to  hold  the  position  when  cap- 
tured, for  the  enemy  can  and  does  turn  the  tables. 
Here  lies  the  whole  of  the  slow  torture  of  this  war 
since  the  open  fighting  of  last  year  —  a  war  of  ex- 
haustion which  must  already  have  cost,  counting  all 
sides,  more  than  a  million  lives.  The  scene  we  looked 

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round  upon  might  be  jfittingly  described  by  the  Bibli- 
cal words  "abomination  of  desolation."  Down  in  the 
woods  we  had  come  through,  the  trees  were  lovely 
with  spring,  and  early  wild  flowers  peeped  prettily 
from  between  the  rocks.  Here  it  was  still  winter  —  a 
monstrous  winter  where  the  winds  were  gunpowder 
and  the  rain  bullets.  Trees  were  stripped  of  their 
smaller  branches,  of  their  bark :  there  was  scarcely  a 
leaf.  And  before  us  lay  the  dead.  One  of  the  horrible 
features  in  this  war,  in  which  there  is  no  armistice, 
and  the  Red  Cross  is  fired  upon  as  a  matter  of  course, 
is  that  it  is  often  impossible  to  bury  the  dead  till  long 
after  they  are  fallen.  Only  when  a  disputed  piece  of 
ground  has  at  last  been  captured,  and  the  enemy  is 
driven  well  back,  can  burial  take  place.  It  is  then  that 
companies  of  men  are  sent  out  to  pick  up  and  identify. 
Of  all  the  tasks  forced  upon  men  by  war,  this  must  be 
the  worst.  Enough  to  say  that  the  bodies,  which  were 
laid  in  rows  on  the  ground  awaiting  their  turn  to  rest 
in  the  sweetness  of  the  earth,  were  those  of  men  who 
fought  close  on  two  months  before.  I  pass  over  the 
details  of  this  awful  spectacle,  leaving  only  two  things : 
one  of  a  ghastly  incongruity,  the  other  very  moving. 
Out  of  a  pocket  of  a  cadavre  near  to  me  I  saw  protrud- 
ing a  common  picture  post-card,  a  thing  of  tinsel, 
strange  possession  for  one  passed  into  the  ages.  And 
between  two  bodies,  a  poppy  startlingly  vivid,  mak- 
ing yet  blacker  the  blackened  shapes  before  us.  .  .  . 

J.  H.  G. 


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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Soldier  Life 

The  main  street  of  Montauville  gives,  perhaps,  a 
characteristic  glimpse  of  the  life  of  the  soldier  on 
active  service,  who  is  not  actually  taking  his  turn  in 
the  trenches.  He  is  under  the  shade  of  every  wall; 
lounges  in  every  doorway,  stands  in  groups  talking 
•and  laughing.  His  hands  and  face  and  neck  are 
brown  with  exposure,  his  heavy  boots,  baggy  trous- 
ers, and  rough  coat  are  stained  with  mud  from  bad 
weather.  He  laughs  easily,  is  interested  in  any  trifle, 
but  underneath  his  surface  gayety  one  may  see  the 
fatigue,  the  bored,  the  cynical  indifference  caused  by 
a  year  of  war,  torn  from  every  human  relationship. 
What  can  be  done  to  humanize  his  lot,  he  does  witli 
great  skill.  He  can  cook.  Every  cottage  is  full  of  sol- 
diers, and  through  open  doors  and  windows  one  sees 
them  eating  and  drinking,  talking,  playing  cards,  and 
sometimes,  though  rarely,  they  sing.  In  the  evening 
they  stand  in  the  street  in  great  numbers,  and  what 
with  that,  the  diflficulty  of  making  ears  accustomed  to 
shrapnel  take  the. sound  of  a  motor  horn  seriously, 
and  the  trains  of  baggage  wagons,  ammunition  for 
the  guns,  carts  loaded  with  hay,  etc.,  it  is  not  too  easy 
to  thread  one's  way  along.  In  our  early  days  here 
curiosity  as  to  who  and  what  we  were  added  to  the 
difficulty,  crowds  surrounding  us  whenever  we  ap- 
peared, but  by  this  time  they  are  used  to  us,  and  not 
more  than  a  dozen  at  once  want  to  come  and  talk  and 
shake  hands. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  time  to  see  Montau- 
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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

ville  is  when,  after  a  successful  attack  by  the  French, 
the  German  prisoners  are  marched  through  the  vil- 
lage. These,  of  course,  without  weapons  and  with 
hands  hanging  empty,  walk  with  a  dogged  step  be- 
tween guards  with  fixed  bayonets,  and  as  they  pass, 
all  crowd  near  to  see  them.  Almost  invariably  the 
prisoners  are  bareheaded,  having  lost  their  caps  — • 
these  being  greatly  valued  souvenirs  —  on  their  way 
down  from  the  trenches.  They  are  housed  tempo- 
rarily, for  interrogation,  in  a  schoolhouse  in  the  main 
street,  and  when  they  are  lined  up  in  the  school-yard 
there  is  a  large  crowd  of  French  soldiers  looking  at 
them  through  the  railings.  Afterwards,  they  may  be 
seen  in  villages  behind  the  lines,  fixing  the  roads,  or 
doing  similar  work,  in  any  old  hats  or  caps  charity 
may  have  bestowed  upon  them. 

J.  H.  G. 

July  22  at  Pont-a-Mousson 
On  Thursday,  the  22d,  we  had  a  quiet  day.  In  the 
evening  several  of  us  stepped  across  to  the  house 
where  Smith  and  Ogilvie  lived,  to  have  a  little  bread 
and  cheese  before  turning  in.  They  had  brought  some 
fresh  bread  and  butter  from  Toul,  where  duty  had 
taken  one  of  them,  and  these  being  our  special  luxu- 
ries, we  were  having  a  good  time.  Coiquaud  was  at 
the  Bureau  and  two  or  three  of  our  men  were  in  or 
about  the  caserne.  There  were  nine  of  us  at  the  house 
at  the  fork  of  the  road,  which,  no  doubt,  you  remem- 
ber.  Suddenly  as  we  sat  round  the  table  there  came 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

the  shriek  of  a  shell  and  a  tremendous  explosion.  The 
windows  were  blown  in,  the  table  thrown  over,  and 
all  of  us  for  a  second  were  in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  The 
room  was  full  of  smoke  and  dust.  None  of  us  was  hurt, 
happily,  except  Holt,  who  had  a  cut  over  the  right 
eye,  and  who  is  now  going  about  bandaged  like  one  of 
our  blessis.  We  made  a  scramble  for  the  cellar,  the 
entrance  to  which  is  in  a  courtyard  behind  the  house. 
As  we  were  going  down  the  stairs  there  followed  an- 
other shell,  and  quickly  on  top  of  that,  one  or  two 
more,  all  very  near  and  pretty  heavy.  We  stayed  in 
the  cellar  perhaps  ten  minutes,  and  then,  as  I  was 
anxious  to  know  how  things  were  at  the  caserne,  I 
went  up  and,  letting  myself  out  into  the  street,  ran 
for  it,  seeing  vaguely  as  I  passed  fallen  masonry  and 
dibris.  The  moon  was  shining  through  the  dust  and 
smoke  which  still  hung  a  little  thick.  When  I  got  to 
the  caserne,  the  first  thing  I  heard  was  Coiquaud  cry- 
ing, ''OhI  pauvre  Mignotl"  and  I  was  told  that  the 
poor  fellow  had  been  standing,  as  was  his  wont, 
in  the  street,  smoking  a  pipe  before  going  to  bed.  He 
was  chatting  with  two  women.  Lieutenant  Kull- 
mann's  orderly  (I  think  they  call  him  Grassetie)  was 
not  far  away.  The  same  shell  which  blew  in  our  win- 
dows killed  Mignot  and  the  two  women,  and  severely 
wounded  Grassetie,  who,  however,  was  able  to  walk 
to  the  caserne  to  seek  help.  He  was  bleeding  a  good 
deal  from  several  wounds;  had  one  arm  broken;  his 
tongue  was  partially  severed  by  a  fragment  which 
went  through  his  cheek.  He  was  taken  immediately, 

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after  a  rough  bandage  or  two  had  been  put  on,  to  try  to 
check  the  loss  of  blood  from  his  arm,  where  an  artery 
appeared  to  be  severed,  to  Ambulance  N°  3  at  Pont- 
a-Mousson,  whence  he  was  afterwards  taken  to  Dieu- 
louard  and  to  Toul.  He  will  probably  recover.^  A  boy, 
the  son  of  our  hlanchisseuse,  who  was  wounded  at  the 
same  time,  will,  it  is  feared,  die.  As  I  was  told  that 
Mignot  still  lay  in  the  street,  I  went  out  again,  and 
saw  him  lying,  being  examined  by  gendarmes,  on  the 
pavement.  He  seems  to  have  been  killed  instantane- 
ously. The  contents  of  his  pockets  and  his  ring  were 
taken  from  the  body  by  Coiquaud  and  handed  to  me: 
they  will,  of  course,  be  sent  to  his  wife.  He  leaves  two 
children.  .  .  .  Poor  Coiquaud,  who  had  shown  great 
courage,  became  a  little  hysterical,  and  I  took  his 
arm  and  led  him  back  to  the  caserne.  When  we  all, 
except  those  who  had  left  with  Grassetie  and  ^me 
who  had  taken  Mignot's  body  to  Ambulance  N^  3 
(there  was  such  confusion  at  the  time  and  I  have 
been  so  constantly  occupied  since  I  don't  yet  know 
exactly  who  took  that  service),  collected  at  the 
Bureau,  our  jubilation  at  our  own  escape — if  the 
shell  had  travelled  three  yards  farther  it  would  have 
killed  us  all  —  was  entirely  silenced  by  the  death  of 
Mignot,  for  whom  we  all  had  a  great  affection.  He 
served  us  well,  cheerfully  from  the  beginning,  hon- 
estly and  indefatigably.  He  was  a  good  fellow,  pos- 
sessing the  fine  qualities  of  the  French  workman  to  a 
very  high  degree.    A  renewed  bombardment  broke 

*  He  died  soon  after. 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

out  about  this  time,  and  we  went  down  to  the  cellar. 
A  shell  striking  the  roof  of  one  of  our  houses  knocked 
in  all  our  windows.  I  think  we  may  all  honestly  con- 
fess that  by  this  time  our  nerves  were  rather  shaken. 
I  was  specially  anxious  about  the  cars  in  the  barn, 
including  the  Pierce- Arrow  and  the  Hotchkiss.  One 
shell  falling  in  the  midst  of  them  would  have  crippled 
half  our  cars  —  and  if  an  attack  on  Bois-le-Pretre 
had  followed  .  .  .  !  Our  telephone  wires  were  broken, 
so  we  were  isolated.  Lieutenant  Kullmann  and  I  de- 
cided, after  consultation  with  all  our  men  who  were 
present,  to  report  the  situation  to  the  medecin 
divisionnaire.  So  long  as  our  men  kept  in  the  cellar 
they  were  safe  enough.  The  Lieutenant  and  I  left 
in  the  Peugeot  brought  by  him  to  the  Section,  our 
leaving  chancing  to  coincide  with  the  arrival  of  four 
or  five  fresh  shells.  It  was  nervous  work  driving  out; 
fragments  of  tiles  and  of  shells  —  the  latter  still  red- 
hot —  fell  about  us  but  without  hitting  us.  After 
seeing  the  medecin  divisionnaire  we  returned  to  the 
caserne  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  darkness  in  the  cel- 
lar. From  time  to  time  more  shells  came,  but  soon 
after  daybreak  the  firing  ceased. 

In  the  morning  we  were  very  anxious  for  a  while 
about  Ogilvie.  He  had,  unknown  to  the  rest  of  us, 
gone  to  sleep  at  Schroder's  and  Buswell's  room,  and 
in  the  night  two  more  shells  struck  his  house,  one  of 
them  penetrating  right  through  to  the  cellar,  making 
complete  wreckage  there.  Some  of  us  spent  a  little 
time  looking  in  the  debris  for  his  body. 

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You  would  have  been  very  r  jnoved  if  you  could 
have  been  present  at  poor  Mignot's  funeral.  We  did 
what  we  could  for  him  to  show  our  respect,  and  I  con- 
cluded I  was  only  carrying  out  what  would  be  the 
wishes  of  the  American  Ambulance  by  authorizing 
the  expense  of  a  better  coflSn  and  cross  than  he  was 
entitled  to  in  his  grade  in  the  army. 

At  eight  in  the  evening  as  many  men  as  were  off 
duty  went  to  Pont-a-Mousson  to  attend  the  funeral. 
A  short  service  was  read  in  the  chapel  of  the  Nativit6. 
There  were  four  coffins :  Mignot's,  covered  with  a  flag 
and  with  many  flowers,  and  those  of  three  civilians, 
killed  on  the  same  evening.  It  was  a  simple  and  im- 
pressive ceremony :  the  dimly  lighted  chapel,  the  dark 
forms  of  some  twenty  or  thirty  people  of  Pont-a- 
Mousson,  our  men  together  on  one  side,  the  sonorous 
voice  of  the  priest,  made  a  scene  which  none  of  us  can 
forget.  Colonel  de  Nansouty,  Commandant  d'Armes 
de  Pont-a-Mousson,  and  Lieutenant  Bayet  were 
present;  and  when  the  little  procession  was  formed 
and  we  followed  the  dead  through  the '  darkened 
streets  and  across  the  Place  Duroc,  they  walked  bare- 
headed with  us.  At  the  bridge  the  procession  halted, 
and  all  but  Lieutenant  Bayet,  Coiquaud,  Schroder, 
and  the  writer  turned  back,  it  being  desired  by  the 
authorities  that  only  a  few  should  go  to  the  cemetery. 
We  crossed  the  river  and  mounted  the  lower  slope  of 
the  Mousson  hill.  Under  the  trees  in  the  cemetery 
we  saw  as  we  passed  the  shattered  tombs  and  broken 
graves  left  from  the  bombardments,  which  even  here 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

have  made  their  terrible  marks.  In  a  far  corner,  well 
up  on  the  hillside,  the  coffin  of  Mignot  was  laid  down, 
to  be  interred  in  the  early  morning.  We  walked  quietly 
back  in  company  with  Lieutenant  Bayet,  and  were  at 
last  free  to  rest,  after  so  many  hours  of  unbroken 
strain. 

J.  H.  G. 


Incidents  of  a  Driver's  Life 

On  the  3d  of  May  N°  6  went  back  on  me  for  the 
first  time.  I  was  returning  from  Toul  when  the  car 
broke  down  in  half  a  dozen  different  places  at  once.  I 
could  not  fix  it,  but  would  have  reached  Dieulouard 
on  three  cylinders  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  steep  hill. 
Twice  N^  6  nearly  reached  the  top,  only  to  die  with  a 
hard  cough  and  slide  to  the  bottom  again.  On  ac- 
count of  this  hill  I  was  forced  to  walk  fourteen  kilo- 
metres to  Dieulouard  for  help.  The  next  night  I  had 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

my  first  experience  at  night  driving.  A  call  came  in 
at  half-past  nine  to  get  one  wounded  man  at  Clos 
Bois.  McConnell,  driver  of  N^  7,  went  with  me.  We 
neither  of  us  had  ever  been  there,  so  it  was  somewhat 
a  case  of  the  blind  leading  the  blind.  It  made  little 
difference,  however,  as  the  night  was  so  black  that 
nothing  but  an  owl  could  have  seen  his  own  nose.  We 
felt  our  way  along  helped  by  a  distant  thunderstorm, 
the  flicker  of  cannon,  and  the  bursting  of  illuminating 
rockets,  picked  up  our  wounded  man,  and  were  re- 
turning through  Montauville  when  we  were  stopped 
by  an  officer.  He  had  a  ;<  ounded  man  who  was  dying, 
the  man  was  a  native  of  Dieulouard  and  wished  to  die 
there,  and  the  officer  asked  us  to  carry  him  there  if  the 
doctor  at  Pont-a-Mousson  would  give  us  permission. 
We  took  him.  He  had  been  shot  through  the  head. 
Why  he  lived  at  all  I  do  not  know,  but  he  not  only 
lived,  but  struggled  so  hard  that  they  had  to  strap 
him  to  the  stretcher.  When  the  doctor  at  the  hospital 
saw  him,  he  refused  to  let  us  carry  him  to  Dieulouard 
because  the  trip  would  surely  kill  him  and  he  might 
live  if  left  at  the  hospital.  Whether  he  did  live  or  die 
I  was  never  able  to  find  out. 

Carlyle  H.  Holt 

Our  life  here  is  one  of  high  lights.  The  transition 
from  the  absolute  quiet  and  tranquillity  of  peace  to 
the  rush  and  roar  of  war  takes  but  an  instant  and  all 
our  impressions  are  kaleidoscopic  in  number  and  con- 
trast.  The  only  way  to  give  an  impression  of  what 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

takes  place  before  us  would  be  a  series  of  pictures,  and 
the  only  way  I  can  do  it  is  to  describe  a  few  incidents. 
Sometimes  we  sit  in  the  little  garden  behind  our  ca- 
serne in  the  evening,  comfortably  drinking  beer  and 
smoking  or  talking  and  watching  the  flash  of  cannon 
which  are  so  far  away  we  cannot  hear  the  report.  At 
such  times,  the  war  is  remote  and  does  not  touch  us. 
At  other  times,  at  a  perfectly  appointed  dinner-table, 
laden  with  fresh  strawberries,  delicious  cakes,  and 
fine  wine,  and  graced  with  the  presence  of  a  charming 
hostess,  the  war  is  still  more  distant.  Pont-a-Mous- 
son,  moreover,  is  rich  in  beautifully  conceived  gar- 
dens of  pleasant  shade  trees,  lovely  flowers,  and  tink- 
ling fountains.  Lounging  in  such  a  place,  with  a  book 
or  the  latest  mail  from  America,  the  war  is  entirely 
forgotten.  Yet  we  may  leave  a  spot  like  that  and  im- 
mediately be  in  the  midst  of  the  realities  of  war.  One 
evening,  about  seven-thirty,  after  the  Germans  had 
been  firing  on  Pont-a-Mousson  and  the  neighboring 
villages  for  some  hours,  I  was  called  to  Bozeville. 
This  village,  which  is  on  the  road  to  Montauville,is  a 
small  cluster  of  one-story  brick  and  frame  buildings 
constructed  in  1870  by  the  Germans  for  their  soldiers. 
When  I  reached  this  place  it  was  on  fire,  and  the  Ger- 
mans, by  a  constant  fusillade  of  shrapnel  shells  in  and 
around  the  buildings  and  on  the  roads  near  them, 
were  preventing  any  attempt  being  made  to  extin- 
guish the  fire.  To  drive  up  the  narrow  road,  with  the 
burning  houses  on  one  side  and  a  high  garden  wall, 
thank  Heaven,  on  the  other,  hearing  every  few  sec- 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

onds  the  swish-bang  of  the  shells,  was  decidedly  nerv- 
ous work,  anything  but  peaceful.  After  picking  up 
the  wounded,  I  returned  to  Pont-a-Mousson,  where 
conditions  were  much  worse.  At  this  time  the  Ger- 
mans were  throwing  shells  of  large  calibre  at  the 
bridge  over  the  Moselle.  To  reach  the  hospital  to 
which  I  was  bound,  it  was  necessary  to  take  the  road 
which  led  to  the  bridge  and  turn  to  the  left  about  a 
hundred  yards  before  coming  to  it.  Just  as  I  was 
about  to  make  this  turn,  two  shells  struck  and  ex- 
ploded in  the  river  under  the  bridge.  There  was  a 
terrific  roar  and  two  huge  columns  of  water  rose  into 
the  air,  and  seemed  to  stand  there  for  some  seconds; 
the  next  instant,  spray  and  bits  of  wood  and  shell  fell 
on  us  and  around  us.  A  minute  later  I  turned  into  the 
hospital  yard,  where  the  effect,  in  the  uncertain  and 
fast-fading  light,  was  ghostly.  Earlier  in  the  evening 
a  shell  had  exploded  in  the  yard  and  had  thrown  an 
even  layer  of  fine,  powder-like  dust  over  everything. 
It  resembled  a  shroud  in  effect,  for  nothing  disturbed 
its  even  surface  except  the  crater-like  hole  made  by 
the  shell.  On  one  side  of  the  yard  was  the  hospital, 
every  window  broken  and  its  walls  scarred  by  the 
pieces  of  shells;  in  the  middle  was  the  shell-hole,  and 
on  the  other  side  was  the  body  of  a  dead  brancardier, 
lying  on  his  back  with  a  blanket  thrown  over  him.  He 
gave  a  particularly  ghastly  effect  to  the  scene,  for 
what  was  left  of  the  daylight  was  just  sufficient  to 
gleam  upon  his  bald  forehead  and  throw  into  relief  a 
thin  streak  of  blood  which  ran  across  his  head  to  the 

175 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

ground.    Needless  to  say  I  left  that  place  as  quickly 
as  possible. 

Another  scene  which  I  do  not  think  I  will  soon  for- 
get happened  in  Montauville.  It  was  just  after  a  suc- 
cessful French  attack  and  shows  war  in  a  little  differ- 
ent light,  with  more  of  the  excitement  and  glory 
which  are  supposed  to  be  attached  to  battle.  Montau- 
ville is  a  straggly  little  village  of  one-  and  two-story 
stone  and  plaster  houses  built  on  the  two  sides  of  the 
road.  It  is  situated  on  a  saddle  which  connects  one 
large  hill  on  one  side  of  it  with  another  large  hill  on 
the  other  side  of  it.  It  is  used  as  a  depot  and  resting- 
place  for  the  troops  near  it.  On  this  particular  day 
the  French  had  attacked  and  finally  taken  a  position 
which  they  wanted  badly,  and  at  this  time,  just  after 
sunset,  the  battle  had  ceased  and  the  wounded  were 
being  brought  into  the  "poste  de  secours.  The  tints  of 
the  western  sky  faded  away  to  a  cloudless  blue  heaven, 
marked  here  and  there  by  a  tiny  star.  To  the  south 
an  aeroplane  was  circling  like  a  huge  hawk  with  puffs 
of  orange-tinted  shrapnel  smoke  on  all  sides  of  it.  In 
the  village  the  soldiers  were  all  in  the  streets  or  hang- 
ing out  of  the  windows  shouting  to  one  another.  The 
spirits  of  every  one  were  high.  They  well  might  be, 
for  the  French  had  obtained  an  advantage  over  the 
Germans  and  had  succeeded  in  holding  it.  A  French 
sergeant  entered  the  town  at  the  lower  end  and 
walked  up  the  street.  At  first  no  one  noticed  him; 
then  a  slight  cheer  began.  Before  the  man  had  walked 
a  hundred  yards,  the  soldiers  had  formed  a  lane 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

through  which  he  strode.  He  was  a  big  fellow,  his 
face  smeared  with  blood  and  dirt  and  his  left  arm 
held  in  a  bloody  sling.  On  his  head  was  a  German 
helmet  with  its  glinting  brass  point  and  eagle.  He 
swaggered  nearly  the  entire  length  of  the  village 
through  the  shouting  lines  of  soldiers,  gesticulating 
with  his  one  well  arm  and  giving  as  he  went  a  lively 
account  of  what  happened.  Some  one  started  the 
"Marseillaise"  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  were  all 
singing.  I  have  heard  football  crowds  sing  after  a 
victory  and  I  have  heard  other  crowds  sing  songs,  but 
I  have  never  heard  a  song  of  such  wild  exultation  as 
that  one.  It  was  tremendous.  I  wish  the  Germans 
could  have  heard  it.  Perhaps  they  did!  They  were 
not  so  far  away,  and  the  sound  seemed  to  linger  and 
echo  among  the  hills  for  some  minutes  after  the  last 
note  had  been  sung. 

Our  work  here  on  this  sector  of  the  front  is  about 
three  kilometres  in  length.  We  do  it  all,  as  there  are 
no  French  ambulances  here.  We  usually  carry  in  a 
week  about  eighteen  hundred  wounded  men  and  our 
mileage  is  always  around  five  thousand  miles.  The 
authorities  seem  to  be  pleased  with  our  work  and  we 
know  that  they  have  never  called  for  a  car  and  had  to 
wait  for  it.  At  any  rate,  we  have  had  the  satisfaction 
of  doing  the  best  we  could. 

C.  H.  H. 


177 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 


Three  Croix  de  Guerre 

Several  bombardments  have  taken  place  near  the 
first-aid  posts  and  hospitals  where  our  cars  are  on 
duty.  On  the  6th,  the  Germans  bombarded  a  road 
that  runs  along  the  top  of  a  ridge  several  hundred 
yards  from  the  post  at  Huss.  One  of  the  first  shells 
landed  on  a  farmhouse  just  below  the  road,  in  which 
some  Territorials  were  quartered,  killing  three  of 
them  and  wounding  five  others.  Two  of  our  men,  ac- 
companied by  the  mSdecin  auxiliaire  of  the  post,  im- 
mediately drove  their  cars  over  to  the  farm  and  res- 
cued the  wounded  while  the  bombardment  was  still 
going  on.  As  a  result  of  this  prompt  and  courageous 
action  on  their  part,  all  three  men  were  cited  in  the 
order  of  the  division  and  will  receive  the  Croix  de 
Guerre,  ' 

P.  L. 


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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 


From  Day  to  Day 

October  26.  The  head  of  the  Sanitary  Service  of  the 
French  Government,  accompanied  by  three  generals, 
made  a  tour  of  inspection  of  all  the  units  in  this  Sec- 
tor to-day.    Mr.  L ,  accompanied  by  Lieutenant 

K ,  went  to  B ,  where  a  formal  inspection  was 

held.  Mr.L'- 


-  was  thanked  as  Section  Commander 
for  the  service  rendered  by  Section  Sanitaire  Ameri- 
caine  N°  2.  The  remarks  were  exceedingly  compli- 
mentary.   General  L and  the  medecin  division- 

naire,  who  accompanied  the  party  as  representatives 
of  the  Sanitary  Service  in  this  Sector,  added  their 
compliments  to  those  of  General  L . 


November  14.  We  had  the  first  snow  of  the  season 
to-day.  All  the  morning  it  snowed  and  covered  the 
fields  and  trees  with  a  thick  coating  of  white.    Ih 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

the  roads  it  melted  and  they  became  stretches  of 
yellow  slush. 

B broke  his  arm  cranking  his  car  this  morning. 

He  will  be  out  of  commission  for  three  weeks,  so  the 
surgeon  who  set  it  informed  him. 

November  16.  We  received  a  phone  message  in 
the  morning  asking  us  to  go  to  the  "  Mairie"  to  meet 
a  high  official.   Four  of  us  went  over.   A  number  of 

large  cars  were  drawn  up  in  the  Place  D .    One 

bore  the  flag  of  the  President  of  France.  We  were  to 
meet  Poincare.  We  formed  a  line  inside  the  sandbag 
barricaded  arcade.  The  President  and  his  entourage 
passed.  He  stopped  in  front  of  us.  "One  finds  you 
everywhere,"  he  said;  "you  are  very  devoted." 
Then  he  shook  hands  with  each  of  us  and  passed  on. 
We  wandered  on  down  the  arcade  to  watch  the  party 
go  down  into  the  shelled  area  of  the  town.  A  sentry 
standing  near  us  entered  into  conversation.  He  ad- 
dressed himself  to  Pottle:  "Did  he  shake  hands  with 
you?"  he  asked.  "Oh,  yes,"  replied  Pottle.  "Hell," 
said  the  sentry;  "he  is  n't  a  bit  proud,  is  he?"  1 

November  25.  Thanksgiving  —  and  we  celebrated 
it  in  the  American  style.   We  had  purchased  and 

guarded  the  turkeys,  and  they  were  prime.    C 

did  wonders  with  the  army  food,  and  it  is  doubtful 
if  any  finer  Thanksgiving  dinner  was  eaten  any  place 
in  the  world  than  the  one  we  enjoyed  two  thousand 
yards  from  the  Huns. 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

November  26.  An  enemy  plane,  flying  high  above 
us  this  morning,  was  forced  to  make  a  sudden  descent 
to  a  height  of  three  hundred  metres  from  earth.  He 
was  either  touched  by  shrapnel  or  his  mixture  froze 
and  he  had  to  seek  a  new  level.  He  passed  very  low 
over  us.  One  of  the  Frenchmen  attached  to  our  Sec- 
tion fired  at  him  with  a  rifle,  but  did  not  get  him. 

November  30.     B was  shelled  and  a  few  stray 

shots  were  sent  into  town  and  on  the  troop  roads  near 
us. 

Under  S the  meals  have  been  sumptuous  re- 
pasts and  we  marvel  at  the  change. 

The  writer,  with  two  others  of  the  Section,  was 

crossing  the  Place after  dark.   As  we  passed  the 

breach  in  the  sandbag  barricaded  roads  made  by 

Rue ,  we  were  lighted  up  by  the  yellow  glare 

coming  from  the  shops  next  to  the  "Mairie."  The 
sentry  thereon  duty  saw  us.  "Pass  along,  my  chil- 
dren, and  good  luck — you  are  more  devoted  than  we 
are,"  he  cried  to  us. 

I  was  startled  by  the  voice  out  of  the  darkness  and 
the  surprising  remarks.  I  glanced  towards  the  sen- 
try's post,  but  the  light  blinded  me  and  I  could  not 
see  him.  From  his  voice  I  knew  he  was  old  —  one  of 
the  aged  Territorials. 

"Oh,  no!"  I  answered,  for  lack  of  anything  better 
to  say. 

"Yes,  you  are.  We  all  thank  you.  You  are  very 
devoted,"  he  said. 

181 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

*tNo,  not  that,  but  I  thank  you,"  I  said;  and  we 
were  swallowed  up  in  the  darkness.  Then  I  was  sorry 
one  of  us  had  n't  gone  back  to  shake  hands  with  the 
kind-hearted  old  fellow.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was 
the  spirit  of  France  speaking  through  him,  voicing  as 
usual  her  appreciation  for  any  well-intentioned  aid, 
and  that  we  should  have  replied  a  little  more  formally. 

James  H.  McConnell 


From  Another  Diary 

November  13.  A  bad  number  and  a  grim  day  for 
168.  At  daybreak  one  blessS,  one  malade,  to  Moosch. 
Brake  loose  as  an  empty  soap-bubble.  Endless  con- 
voy of  mules  appeared  at  bottom  of  hill.  Tail-enders 
received  me  sideways  or  full  breach  —  could  n't  stop 
—  did  n't  think  to  put  on  reverse,  so  did  some  old- 
fashioned  line-plunging.     Heard  cases  crack,   men 

182 


A    \\  INTKK   MORNING 


ALSATIAN   WOODS   IN  WINTER 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

swear,  mules  neigh,  but  heard  no  brake  taking  hold. 
Tried  to  stop  later,  but  only  succeeded  in  doing  so  by 
dragging  against  bank,  which  was  so  straight  car 
rubbed  along  like  an  old  elephant  scratching  its  cut- 
lets, and  padlocks,  keys,  tools,  side-boxes  removed 
like  flies.  Incidentally  a  young  army  on  the  way  up 
the  hill  —  a  few  casualties  if  I  had  not  stopped. 
Tornado  of  rain.  A  big  tree  had  fallen  across  the  road 
this  morning  —  just  got  under  it  —  had  been  chopped 
down  on  the  way  back.  Nothing  doing  since,  but 
frightful  weather  —  good  chance  to  write  in   diary 

—  most  devilish  wind  in  p.m.  Walked  over  to  Bain- 
Douches  in  the  evening  to  see  Hartmann's  by  night 
by  star  bombs,  but  weather  too  bad  and  saw  no 
bombs.  The  valley  of  the  Rhine  so  near  our  feet  — 
impossible  to  realize  that  somewhere  between  us  and 
that  flat  vast  plain,  with  all  its  villages  alight  at 
night,  were  both  lines  of  trenches  —  yet  the  trees 
only  moved  in  the  wind  and  the  only  noise  the  bat- 
teries to  the  rear. 

November  14.  Got  up  about  an  hour  earlier  than 
any  one  else,  looked  out  to  find  trees  covered  with 
snow  —  most  splendid.  The  two  Fords  snowed  into 
the  background.  Built  fire  for  sleeping  sluggards. 
Took  two  "birds"  and  one  brancardier  down  the  hill 

—  brakes  refused  to  work  —  used  reverse  success- 
fully —  no  mules  slaughtered  or  even  touched  — 
oxen  in  the  way,  of  great  service  —  dropped  my  men 
at  Moosch.    Blow-out  just  pulling  into  Wesserling 

183 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

with  two  malades  —  let  'em  walk  —  put  on  new  tube 
—  also  blew  out  —  ran  into  hospital  —  put  on  new 
tire  —  no  lunch. 

November  15.  Cold  and  clear,  mountains  amazingly 
fine  —  was  orderly.  Tried  to  move  an  eight-story 
Boche  stove  with  Carey  from  wall  to  centre  of  room 
where  heat  might  radiate  more  effectually  —  weight 
two  tons  —  toppled  like  Tower  of  Pisa.  I  held  it  one 
second  saving  Carey's  life  after  imperilling  it  first  — 
just  got  out  before  the  whole  damn  shooting-match 
crashed  to  floor  a  mass  of  broken  cast-iron,  broken 
baked  clay,  and  ashes.  With  great  patience  and  sci- 
ence utilized  lower  stones  still  standing  by  fixing  top, 
shortening  pipe,  etc.  Now  in  centre  of  room  where 
one  can  sit,  talk,  read,  etc.  Two  vain  trips  with 
Carey  to  see  Burgomaster  to  report  catastrophe. 

November  17.  Snowing  to  beat  hell.  All  hands  to 
Bussang  to  evacuate  hospital  —  minus  usual  sumptu- 
ous repast.  Fenton  moved  rear  roller  of  his  boat  in 
usual  dashing  style  —  came  around  the  corner  a  min- 
ute later  with  conservative  momentum  and  received 
from  master-mechanic  a  severe  dissertation  on  over- 
speeding,  etc.,  standing  on  his  own  ruins  as  he  spoke. 
Got  late  to  Kriith  —  found  Douglass  there  —  then 
eased  victuals  into  us  at  the  "  Joffre"  —  six  eggs  in 
my  inner  tube.  Took  three  frozen  feet  to  Bussang. 
We  slipped  as  skating-rink  camions  stuck  all  along 
the  line  —  snow  packed  in  hard.    168  ran  poorly  on 

184 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

way  back  —  slow  going  on  slippery  road  —  the  col 
magnificent  —  trees  loaded  with  fresh  snow. 

December  3.  To  Thorns  —  enormous  amount  of 
heavy  artillery  on  the  road  —  eternal  convoys  of 
mules  on  way  up.  Kept  getting  stuck  —  finally  got 
through  —  found  Galatti  —  terrible  weather,  road 
sea  of  mud,  mountain  torrents  across  it.  In  the  after- 
noon we  each  took  down  a  load  of  four  —  difficult 
driving  —  so  tired  when  we  got  to  Moosch.  We  had 
dinner  there.  My  carbide  worked  feebly,  so  G.  fol- 
lowed with  electric  lights  to  show  me  the  way.  On 
steep  grade  after  zigzag  I  stuck  —  backed  into  bank. 
G.  thought  he  had  calU'ed  his  wheel,  but  voiture 
rolled  downhill  into  the  gutter.  An  hour's  hellish 
pushing,  cranking,  etc.,  of  no  avail.  Finally  I  got  out 
a  trench  spade  and  dug  away  bank  and  he  backed  — 
some  tringlots  came  by  and  we  pushed  him  up.  Next 
assault  was  on  steep  turn.  G.,  having  burned  out  his 
electric  lights  trying  to  get  out  of  gutter,  went  ahead 
of  me  with  his  barnyard  lantern  on  bowsprit.  He 
missed  the  road.  I  slowed  up  and  we  rested  side  by 
side,  neither  daring  to  lift  the  toe  on  the  brake.  Fin- 
ally G.  backed  into  a  frightful  hole  —  got  out,  callS'ed 
my  voiture,  and  we  went  in  and  routed  up  some  char- 
honniers  in  some  log  cabins  off  the  road  —  two  cabins 
full  —  got  out  of  bed  with  most  charming  grace  and 
pulled  the  car  out  and  we  finally  got  back  —  three 
hours  from  Moosch  to  there  —  tres  tired,  tous  les 
deux.  I 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

December  7.  Hung  around  expecting  to  leave  early 
to-morrow  —  took  a  contagious  call  in  Hall's  car, 
mine  being  chargeey  to  Wesserling,  where  at  the  end  of 
the  valley  between  the  mountains  three  avians  were 
flying  around  —  two  French,  one  German.  The  sky 
clear  for  once  and,  lit  by  sun  about  to  sink  over 
Ballon  d'Alsace,  was  studded  with  white  shrapnel 
puffs  —  while  the  German  puffs  were  flaked  into 
black  clouds.  On  the  way  to  Bussang  with  my  con- 
tagious passed  Hill  who  yelled,  "We  stay." 

Waldo  Pierce 


Further  Pages 

January  9.  Took  Maud  [the  name  of  his  car]  out 
in  the  morning  with  Hill  at  the  wheel.  —  Went  first 
to  Moosch  then  back  by  Urber  to  test  hill.  Maud 
pronounced  fit  for  military  burial  after  Hill's  au- 
topsy. In  P.M.  made  inventory  of  Mellen's  old  car  to 
take  out  to-morrow.  Bad  dreams  at  night  about 
Thoms. 

January  10.  Nightmare  of  last  night  not  up  to 
actuality.  Got  up  with  Mellen's  car  at  Thoms  after 
sticking  first  short  of  watering-trough.  Gate  and  I 
had  a  stake  to  plant  at  the  place  where  Hall  fell  and 
start  a  cairn  of  stones.  At  watering- trough,  just  as 
I  started  up,  a  shell  lit  near  and  caused  a  rush  of  air 
by  my  head.  As  we  planted  the  stake  and  gathered 
stones  shells  whistled  round.  Mellen's  car  a  heller  to 
crank.    Arrived   at   Thoms  finally  sweating  blood 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

under  my  steel  casque  in  spite  of  temperature 
—  about  zero.  Found  Suckley,  Phillips,  Carey  and 
Cate  present.  Carey  and  Phillips  went  to  Paste  for 
wounded  —  Suckley  to  Herrenfluh  —  Cate  and  I  left 
alone.  Shell  N^  1  arrives  —  every  one  to  ahri  —  Cate 
and  I  stay  outside  in  kitchen.  Bombardment  of 
about  half  an  hour  or  three  quarters  —  can't  judge. 
Last  shell  sent  window,  door,  and  stove  in  on  us  and 
blew  us  off  the  bench.  Peeped  into  the  next  room. 
All  blown  to  hell  —  shell  had  landed  just  to  right  of 
entrance.  ...  A  very  low  p.m.  Rice  came  tearing  up 
from  Henry's  a  minute  or  so  after  the  bombardment. 
I  saw  one  hundred  yards  of  messed-up  wire  moving 
mysteriously  down  the  road  —  was  attached  to  Rice's 
car.  He  hurdled  scalloped  tin,  etc.,  where  tringlots 
had  been  killed.  Cate  coolest  man  in  Christendom' — 
was  reading  account  of  sinking  of  Lusitania  when  last 
shell  arrived  —  just  at  part  where  torpedo  struck.  .  .  . 
When  some  wounded  came  in^  on  mules  I  parted  with 
extreme  pleasure. 

W.  P. 


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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 


A  Night  Trip 

The  most  anxious  drive  I  ever  had  in  a  checkered 
automobiling  experience  was  in  the  evening  of  Sep- 
tember 30.  It  was  at  a  new  post  in  the  mountains, 
not  far  from  Hartmannsweilerkopf .  I  was  there  for 

the  first  time  when  a  call  came  from '(a  station  just 

behind  the  lines  where  a  shower  bath  is  established). 
It  was  dusk  already,  but  I  knew  no  better  than  to 
start.  The  road  is  new  since  the  beginning  of  the  war; 
it  follows  the  steep  route  of  an  old  path  and  no  lights 
are  allowed  on  it  for  fear  the  Germans  might  locate 
and  shell  it.  It  is  narrow,  winding,  and  very  steep,  so 
steep  that  at  places  at  the  top  of  a  descent  it  looks  as 
if  the  road  ended  suddenly.  There  was  barely  enough 
twilight  through  the  mass  of  trees  to  allow  me  to  see 
the  pack-mules  returning  from  the  day's  ramtaille- 
ment,  but  I  finally  made  my  way  to  the  post. 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

I  was  given  a  poor,  blind  soldier  to  carry  back. 
What  a  trip  he  must  have  had.  If  it  was  trying  for 
me,  it  was  worse  for  him. 

It  was  now  dark,  a  moonless,  starless  night  in  the 
woods.  When  I  started  back,  I  could  seldom  see  the 
road  itself.  I  had  to  steer  by  the  bank  or  by  the  gaps 
in  the  trees  ahead.  Occasionally  I  would  feel  one  of 
the  front  wheels  leave  the  crown  of  the  road,  and 
would  quickly  turn  to  avoid  going  over  the  preci- 
pice, but  with  all  this  I  had  to  rush  the  grades  which 
I  could  not  see,  but  could  only  feel. 

At  last  the  machine  refused  a  hill  and  stalled.  I 
knew  that  there  were  steeper  hills  ahead,  worse  roads 
and  thicker  woods.  I  decided  that  a  German  bullet 
would  be  better  than  a  fall  down  the  mountain-side, 
and  so  I  lit  one  of  my  oil  lamps.  Some  passing  soldiers 
gave  me  a  push  and  by  the  flickering  light  of  the  lan- 
tern I  felt  my  way  more  easily  back  to  the  post.  I  was 
glad  to  arrive. 

Tracy  J.  Putnam 


189 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 


An  Attack 

A  few  more  hours  and  the  steady  line  of  ambu- 
lances began  its  journey  downward  to  crawl  up  again 
for  another  load,  always  waiting.  We  deposited  our 
wounded  at  the  first  hospital  in  the  valley  —  there 
the  British  took  them  and  moved  them  on  towards 
France.  During  that  first  night  and  day  the  wounded 
men  could  not  filter  through  the  hospital  fast  enough 
to  let  the  new  ones  enter.  Always  there  were  three  or 
four  Fords  lined  up  before  the  door,  filled  with  men, 
perhaps  dying,  who  could  not  be  given  even  a  place 
of  shelter  out  of  the  cold.  And  it  was  bitterly  cold. 
The  mountain  roads  were  frozen ;  our  cars  slipped  and 
twisted  and  skidded  from  cliff  to  precipice,  avoiding 
great  ammunition  wagons,  frightened  sliding  horses 
and  pack-mules,  and  hundreds  of  men,  who,  in  the 
great  rush,  were  considered  able  to  drag  themselves 
to  the  hospitals  unaided. 

190 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

I  was  on  my  way  to  the  nearest  post  to  the  lines  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  27th  when  I  was  ordered  to  stop. 
Shells  were  falling  on  the  road  ahead  and  a  tree  was 
down  across  it.  I  waited  a  reasonable  time  for  its  re- 
moval and  then  insisted  on  going  on.  At  that  time 
I  had  never  been  under  fire.  For  two  kilometres  I 
passed  under  what  seemed  like  an  archway  of  scream- 
ing shells.  Branches  fell  on  the  car.  At  one  time,  half 
stunned,  half  merely  scared,  I  fell  forward  on  the 
wheel,  stalled  my  engine,  and  had  to  get  out  and 
crank  up,  with  pandemonium  around  me.  Then  I 
found  the  tree  still  down.  For  an  hour  I  lay  beside 
my  car  in  the  road,  the  safest  place,  for  there  was  no 
shelter.  We  were  covered  with  debris.  Then  dusk 
came,  and  as  we  must  return  from  that  road  before 
dark,  I  tried  to  turn.  The  road  was  narrow,  jammed 
with  deserted  carts  and  cars,  and  with  a  bank  on  one 
side,  a  sheer  drop  on  the  other.  I  jerked  and  stalled 
and  shivered  and  finally  turned,  only  to  discover  a 
new  tree  down  behind.  There  could  be  no  hesitating 
or  waiting  for  help  —  we  simply  went  through  it  and 
over  it,  in  a  sickening  crash.  And  then  our  ordinary 
adventures  began. 

John  W.  Clark 

There  we  had  lived  and  eaten  and  sometimes  slept 

during  the  attack.    The  soldiers  of  the  th  had 

practically  adopted  each  and  all  of  us,  giving  up  their 
bunks  and  their  food  and  wine  for  us  at  all  times  and 
sharing  with  us  the  various  good  things  which  had 

191 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

come  from  their  homes  scattered  from  the  Savoie  to 
Brittany.  fNo  hghts  were  ever  shown  there;  no 
shells  had  fallen  anywhere  near.  On  January  8,  the 
first  ones  came,  shrapnel  and  asphyxiating  gas.  Four 
men  were  killed.  One  of  the  hrancardiers  came  out 
and  stood  in  the  road,  unsheltered,  to  warn  any 
American  car  that  might  be  coming  up.  A  car  broke 
down  and  I  took  161  up  that  afternoon.  We  climbed 
the  road  among  the  shells,  and  near  the  top  a  man  was 
struck  just  in  front  of  us.  I  picked  him  up  and  on 
the  way  down  again  we  went  through  a  running  fire. 
Two  days  later  our  hut  up  there  was  struck  and  de- 
molished.   So  we  moved. 

J.  W.  C. 


Cmh  Wf  »rrV. 


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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

Poilu  Hardships 

The  work  during  the  past  month  has  put  an  unu- 
sual strain  upon  every  part  of  our  cars.  But  it  saves 
the  wounded  hours  of  painful  travel,  and  is  appreci- 
ated in  the  most  touching  manner  by  men  as  brave 
and  uncomplaining  as  ever  did  a  soldier's  duty,  who 
have  more  to  face  than  is  probably  generally  realized. 
All  the  horrors  of  modern  war  are  known  here  — 
high  explosives,  burning  oil,  asphyxiating  gases,  and 
in  addition  it  is  no  gentle  country  to  campaign  in. 
There  are  long  marches  and  hard  climbs,  where  the 
wind  blows  cold,  and  it  rains,  and  soon  will  snow,  for 
days  at  a  time. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  privilege  to  see  the  courage  and  good 
cheer  of  the  men  who  are  facing  these  things.  The 
ravitaillement  may  be  delayed;  their  allotted  period 
in  the  water-soaked  trenches  may  be  doubled,  or 
trebled,  and  yet  it  is  always  "(7a  ne  fait  rien,'*  It  is 
a  keen  satisfaction  to  think  that  your  work  will  help 
to  make  the  horrors  of  cold  weather  a  little  less  pain- 
ful for  such  as  they. 

D.  D.  L.  McGrew 


193 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 


H-v.<»aJ 


Winter  in  Alsace 

We  now  received  our  first  taste  of  winter,  and  my 
first  experience  made  me  put  more  faith  in  the  rumors 
of  large  falls  of  snow  than  an  American  likes  to  con- 
cede to  any  country  but  his  own.  I  was  sent  to  our 
regular  station  at  the  poste  de  secours  at  Mittlach. 
It  was  the  farthest  away,  up  the  mountain  to  Treh, 
along  the  bare  crest  for  five  kilometres  and  then 
twelve  more  on  a  winding,  narrow  road  to  the  valley 
of  Metzeral.  There  was  little  work  then,  and  the  car 
that  I  was  to  relieve  got  a  trip  late  that  night  in  what 
was,  even  at  Mittlach,  a  terrific  rainstorm.  The  next 
morning  it  continued  raining,  but  I  could  see  the 
peaks  of  the  mountains  covered  with  snow;  still  no 
wounded,  so  I  waited,  a  little  anxious,  as  no  relieving 
car  had  arrived.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  just  after 
dark,  the  familiar  sound  of  a  Ford  brought  me  out  of 

194 


WINTER   IX   ALSACE 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

the  poste  de  secours,  and  I  found  Rice,  with  his  car 
covered  with  snow  which  even  the  rain  had  n't  yet 
melted.  His  story  was  of  helping  the  car  I  had  re- 
lieved, all  morning,  in  their  efforts  to  pull  it  on  to  the 
road  from  which  a  heavy  ammunition  wagon  had 
pushed  it,  neither  vehicle  being  able  to  stick  to  the 
icy  road.  Farther  on  he  had  met  continual  snow- 
drifts. His  eagerness  to  bring  me  chains,  my  only 
chance  of  getting  up,  persuaded  him  to  keep  on,  and 
he  eventually  got  through  with  everybody's  help  on 
the  road.  We  decided  to  wait  until  the  storm  was 
over,  our  only  alternative,  and  proceeded  to  make 
ourselves  as  comfortable  as  we  could,  which  means  a 
stove,  somewhere  to  sleep,  and  plenty  to  read  and 
smoke.  It  was  four  days  before  the  snow  let  up  and 
we  had  visions  of  a  long  and  lonely  winter,  but  as  soon 
as  the  storm  broke  we  started  up,  and,  as  it  proved,  in 
the  nick  of  time,  as  the  five  kilometres  along  the  crest 
were  again  swept  by  snow  and  sleet  and  drifts  were 
beginning  to  form.  The  Mittlach  service  had  to  be 
abandoned  after  this,  although  in  late  November 
and  early  December  a  car  could  go  through,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  assure  the  service  and  it  was  found  bet- 
ter to  have  sleighs  and  wagons  do  the  work. 

Stephen  Galatti 

The  cold  has  been  intense  during  the  last  few  days 
and  breaking  the  ice  to  wash  is  a  usual  morning  per- 
formance. A  temperature  of  5°  below  zero  Fahren- 
heit does  not  facilitate  starting  a  Ford  ambulance  that 

195 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

has  been  standing  out  all  night;  in  fact,  almost  every 
morning  it  takes  about  fifteen  minutes  to  start  each 
car  with  the  aid  of  hot  water,  hot  potierSy  and  other 
appliances  that  the  inventive  genius  of  our  various 
drivers  supplies. 

» 
On  either  side  of  you  a  wilderness  of  snow.  Take 
your  eyes  off  the  road  and  you  seem  to  be  in  the  great 
forests  of  a  new  country.  Look  back  on  the  road  and 
turn  sharply  to  avoid  the  first  of  a  convoy  of  brand- 
new  American  tractors,  or  a  maze  of  telephone  wires 
with  their  red-and- white  labels  which  have  been  pulled 
from  their  supports  by  the  snow.  The  great  rocks  and 
banks  resplendent  with  their  coating  of  ice,  the  trees, 
the  snow,  the  occasional  deer,  fox,  or  rabbit  contrast 
strangely  with  the  road — the  narrow,  winding,  moun- 
tain road  serving  for  almost  all  forms  of  traffic,  save 
the  railroad,  known  to  man.  Mules,  mules,  mules, 
always  mules,  with  their  drivers  hanging  on  to  the 
beasts'  tails.  H.  Dudley  Hale 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 


Weeks  of  Quiet 

With  the  change  of  conductors  N®  170  has  fallen 
upon  evil  times.  She  has  carried  meat  and  bread  for 
the  Section,  and  even  coal;  she  has  run  through  miles 
of  snowstorm  to  bring  relief  to  those  who  were  suffer- 
ing from  toothache,  scarlatina,  or  mumps;  and  she 
has  patiently  borne  permissionnaires  from  hospital  to 
railroad  station;  but  the  shriek  of  shot  and  shell  has 
become  entirely  unfamiliar  to  her  ears.  At  first  it  was 
the  fault  of  the  conductor,  who  had  never  conducted 
before  reaching  Bordeaux,  and  only  some  half-dozen 
times  between  leaving  Bordeaux  and  arriving  in 
Alsace.  He  was  not  adjudged  capable  of  conducting 
up  any  mountain  in  general  nor  up  the  slopes  adjoin- 
ing Hartmannsweilerkopf  in  particular.  He  went  up 
once  or  twice  without  170,  to  inspect  and  experience, 
but  it  is  an  experience  of  which  a  little  goes  a  long 

197 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

way  when  not  prompted  by  duty.  Afterward  it  was 
the  fault  of  those  who  sit  in  the  seats  of  the  mighty, 
and  still  is,  and  apparently  will  remain  so;  but  at  no 
time  was  170  to  blame. 

We  left  Alsace  one  morning  early  in  February 
when  the  valleys  were  filled  with  tinted  mist  and  the 
snowy  hill-slopes  were  glowing  pink  with  sunrise,  and 
we  hated  doing  it.  Various  reasons  have  been  offered 
for  our  departure  by  various  persons  in  authority,  — 
but  none  of  them  satisfactory  and  convincing,  —  and 
we  still  look  back  upon  it  as  the  Promised  Land. 
We  formed  a  convoy  of  twenty-three  cars,  in  which 
170  was  placed  immediately  behind  the  leader  —  an 
arrangement  to  which  twenty-one  persons  objected. 
Every  time  the  side  boxes  came  open  and  the  extra 
tins  of  gasoline  scattered  over  the  landscape,  or  when 
the  engine  stopped  through  lack  of  sympathy  with  the 
engineer,  three  or  four  cars  would  manage  to  slip  by. 
It  was  a  sort  of  progressive-euchre  party  in  which  170 
never  held  a  winning  hand.  No  one  concerned  had 
the  least  idea  whither  we  were  headed.  The  first 
night  we  spent  at  Rupt,  where  there  is  an  automobile 
park.  We  took  it  on  hearsay  that  there  was  an  auto- 
mobile park,  for  we  left  the  next  morning  without 
having  seen  it;  but  when  two  days  later  we  joined  the 
Twentieth  Army  Corps  —  the  Fighting  Twentieth  — 
at  Moyen,  we  were  reported  as  coming  straight  from 
the  automobile  park  at  Rupt.  Consequently  we  were 
assumed  to  be  ready  for  indefinite  service  "to  the  last 
button  of  the  last  uniform,"  and  when  we  had  ex- 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

plained  that  mechanically  speaking  our  last  uniform 
was  on  its  last  button  the  Fighting  Twentieth  shook 
us  off. 

However,  we  spent  a  week  at  Moyen  —  in  it  up  to 
our  knees.  The  surrounding  country  was  dry  and 
almost  dusty,  but  Moyen  has  an  atmosphere  of  its 
own  and  local  color  —  and  the  streets  are  not  clean. 
Yet  to  most  of  us  the  stay  was  intensely  interesting. 
It  lies  just  back  of  the  high- water  mark  of  German  in- 
vasion, and  the  little  villages  and  towns  round  about 
show  like  the  broken  wreckage  tossed  up  by  the  tide 
—  long  streets  of  roofless,  blackened  ruins,  and  in  the 
midst  the  empty  skeleton  of  a  church.  The  tower  has 
usually  been  pierced  by  shells,  and  the  broken  chimes 
block  the  entrance.  Nothing  has  been  done  to  alter  or 
disguise.  The  fields  surrounding  are  pitted  with  shell 
craters,  which  have  a  suggestive  way  of  lining  the 
open  roads;  along  the  edge  of  the  roads  are  rifle  pits 
and  shallow  trenches  filled  with  a  litter  of  cartridge 
boxes  and  bits  of  trampled  uniform  and  accoutre- 
ment, blue  and  red,  or  greenish  gray,  mixed  together, 
and  always  and  everywhere  the  long  grave  mounds 
with  the  little  wooden  crosses  which  are  a  familiar 
feature  of  the  landscape.  It  lacks,  perhaps,  the  bald 
grim  cruelty  of  Hartmannsweilerkopf ,  but  it  is  a  place 
not  to  be  forgotten. 

From  Moyen  we  paoved  on  to  Tantonville,  a  place 
not  lacking  in  material  comforts,  but  totally  devoid 
of  soul;  and  from  there  we  still  make  our  round  of 
posts  —  of  oi^e,  two,  or  four  cars,  and  for  two,  four, 

199 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

or  eight  days.  In  some,  the  work  is  fairly  constant, 
carrying  the  sick  and  second-hand  wounded  from  post 
to  hospital  and  from  hospital  to  railroad;  in  others, 
one  struggles  against  mental  and  physical  decay  — 
and  it  is  from  the  latter  of  these  in  its  most  aggravated 
form  that  the  present  communication  is  penned. 

At  Oeleville,  we  saw  the  class  of  1916  called  out,  — 
brave,  cheerful-looking  boys,  standing  very  straight 
at  attention  as  their  oflScers  passed  down  the  line,  and 
later,  as  we  passed  them  on  the  march,  cheering 
loudly  for  ^'les  Americains^^  —  and  so  marching  on  to 
the  open  lid  of  hell  at  Verdun.  The  roads  were  filled 
with  soldiers,  and  every  day  and  all  day  the  troop- 
trains  were  rumbling  by  to  the  north,  and  day  after 
day  and  week  after  week  the  northern  horizon  echoed 
with  the  steady  thunder  of  artillery.  Sometimes,  ly- 
ing awake  in  the  stillness  of  dawn  to  listen,  one  could 
not  count  the  separate  explosions,  so  closely  did  they 
follow  each  other.  The  old  man  who  used  to  open  the 
railway  gate  for  me  at  Dombasle  would  shake  his  head 
and  say  that  we  ought  to  be  up  at  Verdun,  and  once 
a  soldier  beside  him  told  him  that  we  were  neutrals 
and  not  supposed  to  be  sent  under  fire.  I  heard  that 
suggestion  several  times  made,  and  one  of  our  men 
used  to  carry  in  his  pocket  a  photograph  of  poor  Hall's 
car  to  refute  it. 

There  was  a  momentary  thrill  of  interest  when  a 
call  came  for  four  cars  to  Baccarat  —  a  new  post  and 
almost  on  the  front;  there  was  an  English  Section 
there  in  nee4  of  assistance,  ancj  we  four  who  went  in- 

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tended  to  "  show  them  how."  But  it  seemed  that  the 
call  had  come  too  late  and  the  pressing  need  was  over; 
the  last  batch  of  German  prisoners  had  been  brought 
in  the  day  before  and  the  active  fighting  had  ceased. 
We  stepped  into  the  long  wooden  cabin  where  they 
waited  —  the  German  wounded  —  and  they  struggled 
up  to  salute  —  a  more  pitiful,  undersized,  weak- 
chested,  and  woe-begone  set  of  human  derelicts  I 
hope  never  to  see  again  in  uniform;  and  as  we  stood 
among  them  in  our  strong,  warm  clothes,  for  it  was 
snowing  outside,  all  of  us  over  six  feet  tall,  I  felt  sud- 
denly uncomfortable  and  ashamed. 

The  oflScer  in  charge  of  the  administration  said 
that  a  car  was  needed  to  go  down  the  valley  to  Saint- 
Die,  but  we  must  be  very  careful  for  Saint-Die  was 
under  bombardment.  Once  we  were  startled  at  lunch 
time  by  an  explosion  near  the  edge  of  town.  Three  of 
us  stepped  to  the  door.  We  were  eating  the  rarity  of 
blood  sausage  and  the  fourth  man  kept  his  seat  to 
help  himself  from  the  next  man's  plate.  As  we  looked 
out  there  came  a  second  explosion  a  little  farther  off, 
and  then  in  a  few  moments  a  telephone  call  for  an 
ambulance,  with  the  news  that  a  Taube  had  struck  a 
train.  When  I  reached  the  place  the  train  had  gone 
on,  carrying  ten  slightly  wounded  to  Luneville,  and 
I  brought  back  the  other  two  on  stretchers  —  one  a 
civilian  struck  in  a  dozen  places,  but  otherwise  ap- 
parently in  excellent  health  and  spirits;  the  other  was 
a  soldier  in  pretty  bad  shape.  It  must  have  been  ex- 
cellent markmanship  f  or  the  Taube,  since  we  had  seen 

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nothing  in  the  clear  blue  sky  overhead  nor  heard  the 
characteristic  whir  of  the  motor,  and  yet  both  shell 
craters  were  very  close  to  the  tracks.  In  Alsace  they 
were  constantly  in  sight,  but  seldom  attacked  and 
almost  never  scored  a  hit,  while  the  French  gunners 
seemed  perfectly  happy  to  fire  shrapnel  at  them  all 
afternoon  with  the  same  indecisive  result.  One  could 
not  even  take  the  white  shrapnel  clouds  as  a  point  of 
departure  in  looking  for  the  aeroplane — though  the 
French  artillery  is  very  justly  famous  for  its  accuracy 
of  fire.  In  this  instance  as  in  all  air  raids  the  success 
scored  seemed  pitifully  futile,  for  it  was  not  a  military 
train,  and  most  of  the  wounded  were  noncombatants. 
It  had  added  its  little  unnecessary  mite  of  suffering, 
and  of  hatred  to  the  vast  monument  which  Germany 
has  reared  to  herself  and  by  which  she  will  always  be 
remembered.  W.  Kebr  Rainsford 


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Night 

You  can  little  imagine  how  lonely  it  is  here  under 
the  black,  star-swept  sky,  the  houses  only  masses  of 
regular  blackness  in  the  darkness,  the  street  silent  as 
a  dune  in  the  desert,  and  devoid  of  any  sign  of  human 
life.  Muffled  and  heavy,  the  explosion  of  a  torpedo 
inscribes  its  solitary  half-note  on  the  blank  lines  of 
the  night's  stillness.  I  go  up  to  my  room,  and  sigh 
with  relief  as  my  sulphur  match  boils  blue  and  breaks 
into  its  short-lived  yellow  flame.  Shadows  are  born, 
leaping  and  rising,  and  I  move  swiftly  towards  my 
candle-end,  the  flame  catches,  and  burns  straight  and 
still  in  the  cold,  silent  room.  The  people  who  lived 
here  were  very  religious;  an  ivory  Christ  on  an  ebony 
crucifix  hangs  over  the  door,  and  a  solemn-eyed,  pure 
and  lovely  head  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  stands  on  my  mantel. 
What  a  marvellous  history  —  hers!  I  think  it  the 
most  beautiful,  mystic  tale  in  our  human  annals. 

Silence  —  sleep  —  the  crowning  mercy.  A  few 
hours  go  by. 

Morning 

"There  is  a  call,  Monsieur  Shin  —  un  couchS 
a " 

I  wake.  The  night  clerk  of  the  Bureau  is  standing 
in  the  doorway.  An  electric  flashlight  in  his  hand 
sets  me  a-blinking.  I  dress,  shivering  a  bit,  and  am 
soon  on  my  way.  The  little  gray  machine  goes  cauti- 
ously on  in  the  darkness,  bumping  over  shell-holes, 
guided  by  the  iridescent  mud  of  the  last  day's  rain.  I 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

reach  a  wooded  stretch phisi!  a  rifle  bullet  goes 

winging  somewhere.  A  bright  flash  illuminates  the 
road.  A  shell  sizzles  overhead.  I  reach  the  poste  de 
secours  and  find  a  soldier  in  the  roadway.  More  elec- 
tric hand-lamps.  Down  a  path  comes  a  stretcher  and 
a  man  wounded  in  arm  and  thigh.  We  put  him  into 
the  wagon,  cover  him  up,  and  away  I  start  on  my  long, 
dark  ride  to  the  hospital,  a  lonely,  nerve-tightening 
ride. 

Stray  Thoughts 

The  voice  of  war  is  the  voice  of  the  shell.  You  hear 
a  perfectly  horrible  sound  as  if  the  sky  were  made  of 
cloth  and  the  Devil  were  tearing  it  apart,  a  screaming 
undulating  sound  followed  by  an  explosion  of  fearful 
violence,  hang!  The  violence  of  the  affair  is  what  im- 
presses you,  the  suddenly  released  energy  of  that  mur- 
derous burst.  When  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  wander 
around  the  shore  and  pick  up  hermit  crabs  and  put 
them  on  a  plate.  After  a  little  while  you  would  see  a 
very  prudent  claw  come  out  of  the  shell,  then  two 
beady  eyes,  finally  the  crab  in  propria  persona.  I  was 
reminded  of  that  scene  on  seeing  people  come  cauti- 
ously out  of  their  houses  after  a  shell  had  fallen,  peep- 
ing carefully  out  of  doorways,  and  only  venturing  to 
emerge  after  a  long  reconnoitring. 

I  am  staying  here.  It  was  my  design  to  leave  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year,  but  why  should  I  go?  I  am  very 
happy  to  be  able  to  do  something  here,  very  proud  to 
feel  that  I  am  doing  something.   In  times  to  come 

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when  more  Americans  realize  their  lost  opportunity, 
there  will  be  many  regrets,  but  you  and  I  will  be  con- 
tent. So  wish  me  the  best.  Not  that  there  is  anything 
attractive  to  keep  me  here.  To  live  continually  un.der 
shell  fire  is  a  hateful  experience,  and  the  cheerless  life, 
so  empty  of  any  domesticity,  and  the  continuous 
danger  are  acid  to  any  one  with  memories  of  an  old, 
beloved  New  England  hearth  and  close  family  ties  and 
friendships.  To  half  jest,  I  am  enduring  war  for  peace 
of  mind. 

How  lonely  my  old  house  must  be  when  the  winter 
storms  surge  round  it  at  midnight.  How  the  great 
flakes  must  swirl  round  its  ancient  chimney,  and  fall 
softly  down  the  black  throat  of  the  fireplace  to  the 
dark,  ungarnished  hearth.  The  goblin  who  polished 
the  pewter  plates  in  the  light  of  the  crumbling  fire- 
brands has  gone  to  live  with  his  brother  in  a  hollow 
tree  on  the  hill.  But  when  you  come  to  Topsfield,  the 
goblin  himself,  red  flannel  cap  and  all,  will  open  the 
door  to  you  as  the  house's  most  honored  and  welcome 
guest. 

Kfus^e  Eclair  ante  has  just  run  over  the  wood  —  the 
hois  de  la  mort  —  the  wood  of  the  hundred  thousand 
dead.  And  side  by  side  with  the  dead  are  the  living, 
the  soldiers  of  the  army  of  France,  holding,  through 
bitter  cold  and  a  ceaseless  shower  of  iron  and  hell,  the 
far-stretching  lines.  If  there  is  anything  I  am  proud 
of,  it  is  of  having  been  with  the  French  army  —  the 
most  devoted  and  heroic  of  the  war. 

H.  Sheahan 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 


A  Gallant  BlessS 

I  was  stationed  at  one  of  our  posies  de  secours  the 
other  night  during  a  terrible  rainstorm.  The  wind 
does  blow  on  top  of  these  mountains  when  it  begins! 
About  bedtime,  which  is  at  7.30  (we  eat  our  dinner  at 
4.30  —  it  is  pitch  dark  then),  a  call  came  from  one  of 
our  posies  three  kilometres  nearer  the  line.  There  was 
a  captain  wounded  and  they  asked  me  to  go  for  him. 
I  cannot  speak  French  well,  but  I  made  them  under- 
stand. The  poste  is  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  hid- 
den from  the  Boches  by  the  trees  in  the  woods  only. 
At  night  we  cannot  use  lights,  for  the  Germans  would 
see  us  easily,  and  then  there  would  be  a  dead  Ameri- 
can in  short  order.  Of  course,  I  told  them  I  would  go, 
but  it  would  be  dangerous  for  the  blesse.  I  could 
jump  out  in  case  I  should  run  into  a  ravine,  but  I 
could  not  save  the  man  on  the  stretcher  if  anything 
happened.  They  understood,  and,  after  about  half 
an  hour,  we  heard  another  knock  on  the  cabin  door, 
and  they  brought  the  captain  in  —  four  men,  one  on 

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each  corner  of  a  stretcher.  They  put  him  on  the  floor, 
and  in  the  lantern  light  of  the  room  (made  of  rough 
timbers)  one  could  see  he  was  vitally  stricken  by  the 
death  color  of  his  face  and  lips.  He  had  his  full  senses. 
It  was  my  duty  then  to  take  him  down  the  opposite 
slope  of  the  mountain  to  the  hospital.  I  started  my 
car  and  tried  to  find  my  way  through  the  trees  in  the 
dark.  The  wind  was  almost  strong  enough  to  blow 
me  off  the  seat,  and  the  rain  made  my  face  ache.  The 
only  light  I  had  was  that  of  the  incendiary  bombs  of 
the  French  and  the  Germans  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
about  one  and  a  half  kilometres  away.  These  bombs 
are  so  bright  they  illuminate  the  whole  sky  for  miles 
around  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  I  must  admit  my 
nerves  were  a  little  shaken,  taking  a  dying  man  into 
my  car  under  such  conditions,  almost  supernatural. 
It  did  seem  like  the  lights  of  the  spirits  departing 
mixed  with  the  moaning  wind  and  the  blackness  of 
the  night,  and  the  pounding  of  the  hand-grenades  in 
the  front  lines  so  near.  They  gave  me  another  blessS 
with  the  captain.  This  man  had  been  shot  through 
the  mouth  only,  and  was  well  enough  to  sit  up  in  back 
and  watch  the  captain.  I  could  use  my  lights  after  I 
had  passed  down  the  side  a  short  distance  out  of  sight 
of  the  lines.  We  must  run  our  motors  in  low  speed  or 
we  use  up  our  brakes  in  one  trip.  All  the  poor  capitaine 
could  say  during  the  descent  was  ''J'ai  soif,"  except 
once  when  he  requested  me  to  stop  the  car,  as  the  road 
was  too  rough  for  him,  and  we  had  to  rest.  When  we 
reached  the  hospital,  I  found  a  bullet  had  struck  one 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

shoulder  and  passed  through  his  back  and  out  the 
other  shoulder.  He  also  had  a  piece  of  shell  in  his  side. 
A  few  hours  before  he  had  walked  back  from  the 
trenches  into  the  woods  to  see  a  position  of  the  Ger- 
mans; they  saw  him  —  and  seldom  does  a  man  escape 
when  seen  at  fairly  close  range.  He  was  vitally 
wounded.  I  climbed  up  the  mountain  watching  the 
fire-flashes  in  the  sky,  feeling  pretty  heavy-hearted 
and  homesick,  but  with  strengthened  resolve  to  help 
these  poor  chaps  all  I  possibly  could. 

The  next  day  I  had  another  trip  from  the  same 
station  on  the  mountain  to  the  same  hospital  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  —  then  dark  as  midnight. 
The  sisters  told  me  the  capitaine  was  better;  the  ball 
had  not  severed  the  vertebra  and  there  was  hope  for 
him.  They  told  me  also  that  the  general  had  arrived 
and  conferred  upon  him  the  Cross  of  the  LSgion 
d'Honneur,  It  was  reassuring  to  hear  that  he  was  bet- 
ter and  had  distinguished  himself  so  well,  and  I  went 
back  up  the  trail  this  night  with  a  lighter  heart.  I  had 
felt  really  guilty,  for  I  did  not  have  a  thing  in  my  car 
to  give  him  the  night  before  when  he  asked  me  to  stop 
the  car  and  said,  ''J'ai  soif"  Never  did  I  want  a 
spoonful  of  whiskey  more  and  never  have  I  regretted 
not  having  it  more.  I  could  not  give  him  water  —  he 
had  some  fever;  besides,  though  there  are  many 
streams  of  it  running  down  the  mountain,  no  one 
dares  to  touch  it.  Water  is  dangerous  in  wartime,  and 
we  have  all  been  warned  against  it. 

I  was  called  the  next  morning  for  the  same  trip  and 
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when  I  reached  the  hospital  at  eight  o'clock  it  was 
still  raining  —  now  for  three  days !  I  met  Soeur  Siege- 
bert  in  the  hall  —  carrying  her  beads,  her  prayer-book 
and  a  candle.  She  is  one  of  the  good  nuns  who  always 
gives  me  hot  soup  or  tea  with  rum  in  it  when  I  come 
in  cold,  wet,  and  hungry — and  many  times  I  and  the 
others  have  blessed  her  I  My  first  question  was: 
**  Comment  ga  va  avec  le  capitaine  ce  matin  P"  All  she 
said  and  could  say  was  ''FinV  He  had  passed  out  a 
short  time  before  I  got  there.  He  was  only  thirty 
years  old,  tall  and  handsome,  and  they  say  he  led  a 
whole  battalion  with  the  courage  of  five  men. 

A  little  later  I  stepped  into  the  death  chamber  in  a 
little  house  apart  from  the  hospital.  It  was  cold,  wet, 
and  smelled  strongly  of  disinfectant,  just  as  such 
places  should,  and  in  a  dim,  small  room  lighted  by  two 
candles,  upon  a  snowy  white  altar  made  by  the  nuns, 
there  he  lay  on  a  bier  of  the  purest  linen  beautifully 
embroidered,  whiter  even  than  the  pallor  of  his  fea- 
tures and  hands,  and  as  I  came  near  him  the  only 
color  in  the  room  was  the  brilliant  touch  of  red  and 
silver  in  his  Legion  d'Honneur  medal,  which  was 
pinned  over  his  heart.  His  peaceful  expression  as- 
sured me  he  was  happy  at  last,  and  made  me  real- 
ize that  this  is  about  the  only  happiness  left  for  all 
these  poor  young  chaps  I  see  marching  over  these 
roads  in  companies  for  the  trenches,  where  their  only 
shelter  is  the  sky  and  their  only  rest  underground  in 
dug-outs.   When  they  go  into  the  trenches  they  have 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

a  slim  chance  of  coming  out  whole  again,  and  they 
pass  along  the  road  in  companies  with  jovial  spirits, 
singing  songs  and  laughing  as  though  they  were  going 
to  a  picnic.  I  see  them  come  back  often,  too;  they  are 
still  smiling  but  nearly  always  in  smaller  numbers. 
What  can  they  have  in  view  when  they  see  their  num- 
bers slowly  but  surely  dwindling!  I  marvel  at  their 
superb  courage! 

Luke  C.  Doyle 

Perils  of  a  Blizzard 

The  other  night,  just  as  I  was  going  to  crawl  in, 
three  blesses  arrived  from  the  trenches,  another  was 
down  the  road  in  a  farmhouse  waiting  for  the  medecin 
chef;  he  was  too  badly  wounded  to  go  farther.  They 
asked  me  to  take  the  men  to  the  hospital  at  Krtit, 
which  is  back  over  the  mountains  twenty  miles,  and 
of  course  I  said  I  would.  I  dressed  again  (I  hated  to 
because  it  was  warm  in  the  little  log  shack  and  it  had 
begun  to  rain  outside);  I  lit  my  lantern,  and  went 
out  to  the  shelter  where  the  cars  were,  got  my  tank 
filled  with  gas,  and  my  lights  ready  to  burn  when  I 
could  use  them.  It  was  so  black  one  could  see  nothing 
at  all.  We  put  two  of  the  blesses  on  stretchers  and 
pushed  them  slowly  into  the  back  of  the  car;  the  other 
sat  in  front  with  me.  We  did  this  under  the  protec- 
tion of  the  hill  where  the  poste  de  secours  is  located. 
When  one  goes  fifty  yards  on  the  road  beyond  the 
station  there  is  a  valley,  narrow  but  clear,  which  is 
in  full  view  of  the  trenches,  and  it  is  necessary  to  go 

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over  this  road  going  and  coming.  In  the  daytime  one 
cannot  be  seen  because  the  French  have  put  up  a  row 
of  evergreens  along  it  which  hides  the  road.  I  started 
and  proceeded  very  carefully,  keeping  my  lantern 
under  a  blanket,  and  we  soon  arrived  at  the  house 
where  the  other  blessS  was  waiting  for  the  doctor.  It 
was  a  typical  French  farmhouse,  little,  old,  and  dirty 
inside,  and  white  outside.  I  pushed  in  the  door  and 
stepped  down  into  the  flagstone  kitchen.  On  the 
floor  lay  the  chasseur  on  a  stretcher,  his  face  pale  un- 
der the  lamplight  from  the  table.  The  medecin  chef 
was  bending  over  him  injecting  tetanus  (lockjaw) 
anti-toxin  into  his  side,  and  with  each  punch  of  the 
needle  the  poor  fellow,  already  suffering  from  terrible 
wounds,  would  squirm  but  not  utter  a  word.  The 
soldiers  stood  around  the  tiny  room,  their  heads 
almost  touching  the  brown  rafters  above.  We  took 
the  man  out  to  my  car  on  the  stretcher,  carrying  the 
light  under  the  coat  of  one  of  the  stretcher-bearers. 
If  the  Germans  see  a  light  moving  anywhere  in  the 
French  territory,  they  will  fire  on  it  if  they  think  it 
near  enough.  I  started  up  the  mountain  with  my 
load  of  wounded.  On  either  side  of  the  road  the 
French  guns  at  certain  places  pounded  out  their 
greetings  to  the  Boches,  and  the  concussion  would 
shake  the  road  so  that  I  could  feel  it  in  my  car.  I 
could  light  my  lights  after  about  a  mile,  so  I  pro- 
ceeded slowly  up  the  mountain  in  low  speed.  The  heat 
from  my  motor  kept  the  blesses  and  myself  warm. 
About  halfway  up,  we  ran  into  the  clouds  and  it 

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FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

became  so  foggy  one  could  scarcely  see;  farther  up 
it  became  colder  and  began  to  snow.  I  had  no  chains 
on  my  car  (none  to  be  had).  They  need  so  many 
things  here,  if  they  only  had  the  money  to  buy  them. 
I  thought  of  the  time  you  and  I  got  stuck  at  Prince- 
ton, and  it  worried  me  to  be  without  chains,  espe- 
cially since  I  had  three  helpless  men  inside  and  one 
out.  I  kept  climbing  up  and  the  higher  I  went  the 
more  it  snowed  and  the  harder  it  blew.  Near  the  top 
it  became  veritably  blinding  —  snow,  sleet,  and  wind 
—  a  typical  northeasterly  American  blizzard.  The 
little  car  ploughed  on  bravely;  it  stuck  only  once  on  a 
sharp  turn,  and  by  backing  it  I  was  able  to  make  it 
by  rushing  it.  I  could  not  see  the  road,  the  sleet  was 
blowing  into  my  face  so  and  the  snow  was  so  thick. 
At  last  I  reached  the  summit  and  the  wind  was  so 
strong  there  it  actually  lifted  my  car  a  little  at  one 
time.  On  one  side  of  the  road  was  a  high  embankment 
and  on  the  other  a  ravine  sloping  down  at  least  one 
thousand  feet.  I  was  scared  to  death,  for  without 
chains  we  were  liable  to  skid  and  plunge  down  this 
depth.  The  snow  had  been  falling  all  day,  and  it  had 
drifted  in  places  over  a  yard  deep.  Twice  I  took  a 
level  stretch  to  be  the  road,  but  discovered  my  mis- 
take in  time  to  back  up;  the  third  time  was  more  seri- 
ous; I  plunged  ahead  through  a  drift  which  I  thought 
was  the  road,  and  finally  I  stuck  and  could  move 
neither  way.  I  could  not  leave  these  men  there  all 
night  wounded,  and  the  blizzard  did  not  stop,  so  my 
only  means  was  to  find  help.  I  walked  back  to  what 

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WHAT  NIGHT  TRIPS   WITHOUT  LIGHTS   SOMETIMES   MEAN 


THE   I>ANGERS   OF   THE   KoAD 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

I  thought  was  the  road  and  kept  on  toward  a  slight, 
glimmering  light  I  could  see  in  the  right  direction.  It 
was  an  enclosure  for  mules  which  haul  ammunition 
over  the  mountains,  and  I  felt  safe  again,  for  I  knew 
there  were  a  lot  of  Territorial  soldiers  with  them. 
I  hauled  them  out  of  bed;  it  was  then  10.30.  They 
came  with  me  and  pushed  me  back  on  the  road,  also 
pushed  me  along  —  ten  of  them  —  until  they  got  me 
on  the  descent,  and  from  there  on  the  weight  of  my 
car  carried  me  down  through  the  drifts.  I  arrived  at 
the  hospital  at  12.30  and  was  the  happiest  man  you 
have  ever  seen  to  get  those  poor  fellows  there  safely. 
I  was  sent  back  to  Mittlach  the  next  day  to  get 
four  more  wounded.  They  were  what  are  called  assis, 
not  couches,  fortunately,  because  the  snow  on  top  of 
Trekopf  had  been  falling  and  drifting  all  day  and 
night.  When  I  got  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  and 
started  down,  the  roads  had  been  broken  and  beaten 
down  by  munition  wagons  and  were  like  a  sheet  of 
ice.  I  started  down  without  chains,  and  with  all  my 
brakes  on  the  car  began  to  slide  slowly  down  the  road. 
It  slid  toward  the  edge  of  the  ravine  and  the  two  front 
wheels  went  over;  it  stopped,  I  got  it  back  on  the 
road,  and  turned  the  radiator  into  the  bank  on  the 
other  side  and  tried  tying  rags  on  the  rear  wheels  to 
keep  the  car  from  going  down,  when  a  big  wagon  with 
four  horses  came  down  the  hill  behind  me.  It  was  so 
slippery  that  the  horses  started  to  slide  down  on  their 
haunches,  and,  with  brakes  on,  the  driver  could  not 
stop  them.    The  horses  came  on  faster  and  they  slid 

213 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

into  the  rear  of  my  car,  pushed  it  along  for  about  six 
feet,  and  then  nothing  could  stop  it.  It  started  down 
the  road.  I  yelled  to  the  wounded,  "  Vous,  jetez  vous." 
They  understood  and  piled  out  just  in  time.  The  car 
ran  across  the  road  and  plunged  down  into  the  ravine. 
There  was  a  lot  of  snow  on  the  side  of  the  ravine,  and 
it  had  piled  up  so  that  it  stopped  the  car  part  way 
down,  and  it  was  not  injured  very  much.  It  took  nine 
men  and  as  many  mules  to  pull  it  out.  Now  that  the 
snow  has  come,  I  think  our  service  to  Mittlach  will 
have  to  be  abandoned. 

L.  C.  D. 

At  Tomansplatz  the  other  day  an  officer  and  I 

started  for ,  one  of  our  posies.   We  took  a  short 

cut  over  a  high  hill  from  which  one  could  look  easily 

down  on ,  where  all  the  fighting  had  been  going 

on.  There  is  a  path  over  this  hill  which  is  hidden  by 
trees,  and  on  the  top  is  a  long  hoyau  to  pass  through 
so  as  to  keep  out  of  sight  of  the  Germans  in  clear 
weather.  When  we  reached  the  top,  we  stepped  out 
of  the  path  to  get  a  view  of  the  valley,  and  it  was 
wonderful  looking  down  on  the  French  and  German 
trenches,  and  to  see  the  hill  all  shot  to  pieces  and  the 
trees  broken  to  stubs  —  living  scars  of  the  fighting 
that  had  gone  on.  We  did  not  get  by  unseen,  for  the 
Germans  are  always  on  the  job.  They  have  observa- 
tion posts  in  the  trees,  hard  to  be  seen,  but  easy  to  see 
from.  There  was  a  lot  of  firing  going  on,  and  we  could 
see  the  French  shells  landing  in  the  German  lines.   I 

214 


MULE   CONVOY   IX  ALSACE 


THE   "POSTE"   NEAR   HARTMANNSWEILERKOPF 
AFTER  A  BOMBARDMENT 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

had  a  premonition  that  something  was  going  to  hap- 
pen and  stepped  behind  a  tree.  I  heard  particularly 
one  big  gun  fire,  and  wondered  if  by  any  chance  it  was 
meant  for  us.  It  took  only  three  or  four  seconds  to 
confirm  my  suspicion,  for  the  shriek  of  a  shell  came 
our  way.  As  they  often  pass  high  over  our  heads  and 
we  are  familiar  with  the  sound,  I  was  still  in  doubt, 
when  it  burst  not  fifty  yards  away.  We  did  not  wait 
to  investigate  further,  but  jumped  for  the  hoyau  when 
another  shriek  was  heard,  and  we  were  just  in  time, 
for  the  shell  burst  not  far  behind  us.  We  could  tell 
when  they  were  firing  at  us,  for  we  could  hear  the  gun 
fire,  —  it  sounded  like  a  150  mm.,  which  is  about  6- 
inch  bore,  —  then  came  the  shriek,  and  then  the  burst- 
ing. It  certainly  is  a  strange,  unwelcome  sound  when 
you  know  you  are  the  target.  We  ran  down  the  hoyau 
toward  the  back  of  the  hill  for  all  we  were  worth,  and 
they  followed  us,  but  we  did  not  stop  to  look  or  listen, 
we  almost  rolled  down  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  but 
it  was  to  safety,  thank  Heaven.  The  only  thing  that 
happened,  to  me  was  a  scratch  on  the  back  of  my 
hand.  Never  again!  The  sensation  of  shells  coming 
at  one  is  novel  but  nauseating,  and  I  keep  away  from 
the  lines  from  now  on. 

I  must  tell  you  that  we  have  received  a  citation,  and 
Colonel  Hill's  brother  the  Croix  de  Guerre  for  the  work 
we  did  during  the  attack  of  October  15  to  19.  Two 
more  citations  and  we  receive,  each  one,  the  Croix  de 
Guerre,  L.  C.  D. 

215 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Poignant  Impressions 

I  had  a  wild  ride  last  night  in  the  rain.  A  German 
shell  landed  in  a  town  only  two  kilometres  from  the 
front  and  killed  four  civilians  and  wounded  one 
woman.  I  had  to  go  and  get  her.  For  two  kilometres 
the  road  runs  over  a  slight  rise  in  the  plain,  in  full 
view  of  the  Germans.  It  is  all  screened  off  with  brush 
cut  and  stuck  up  along  the  side  toward  the  lines,  but 
here  and  there  the  brush  was  blown  down  by  the 
terrific  wind  which  came  with  the  storm.  We  could 
not  use  lights,  but  we  did  not  need  them,  for,  though 
it  was  raining  like  fury,  the  Germans  were  sending  up 
illuminating  bombs  which  lighted  up  the  country  for 
miles  around.  They  are  the  most  fascinating  yet 
weird  things  you  have  ever  witnessed.  This  ball  of 
fire  rises  from  the  trenches  to  a  height  of  one  hundred 
feet,  and  then  floats  along  slowly  through  the  air  for 
a  quarter  of  a  mile,  illuminating  everything  around. 
At  one  time  one  came  directly  for  us,  and  we  stopped 
the  car  and  watched  it.  At  the  roadside  stood  a  huge 
crucifix,  and,  as  this  ball  of  fire  approached,  it  sil- 
houetted the  cross,  and  all  we  could  see  was  the  beau- 
tiful shadow  of  the  figure  on  the  cross  rising  from  the 
earth  against  the  weird  glow  of  white  fire.  It  seemed 
like  the  sacrifice  of  Calvary  and  the  promise  of  suc- 
cess for  poor  France. 

We  did  not  dare  to  use  our  low  speed  for  fear  the 
Boches  would  hear  us,  so  we  tore  over  this  road  on 
high,  rushing  past  the  bare  spots,  afraid  of  being  seen. 
The  illuminating  bombs  are  used  for  this  purpose 

216 


i 

1  — .■  m 

Pjt      /jsa 

.^i^rl 

i^^?'^^^flH[^^89BBB^3 

^^fB  .  .' 

p^n 

lit^S 

^W'-^'^mLlM.:.  ILM 

ONE  OF  OUR  CARS  IN  TROUBLE 


COFFINS   IN   COURTYARD   OF   BASE  HOSPITAL   IN   ALSACE - 
AMONO  THExM   RICHARD   HALL'S 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

only;  the  one  which  came  toward  us  went  out  before 
it  reached  us,  for  which  we  were  grateful.  We  got 
the  woman.   She  had  to  have  her  arm  amputated. 

December  27 

We  have  had  very  strenuous  times,  as  a  big  attack 
has  just  taken  place  and  the  wounded  have  come  in  so 
fast  and  so  badly  cut  up  they  could  not  give  them  the 
care  they  would  like  to,  as  everything  is  so  crowded. 
The  Germans  lost  a  lot  of  trenches,  and  almost  two 
thousand  of  them  were  taken  prisoners.  They  have 
been  shelling  the  French  lines  and  towns  constantly; 
since  the  22d,  our  cars  have  been  more  or  less  under 
fire.  We  moved  our  quarters  about  six  kilometres 
nearer  the  line  and  bring  the  wounded  in  to  the  hos- 
pital three  times  a  day.  The  Germans  shelled  this 
place,  —  why  we  do  not  know,  for  there  is  nothing 
military  her  but  the  hospital,  and  why  should  people 
of  any  intelligence  and  feeling  wish  to  shell  a  hospi- 
tal? 

One  of  our  men  was  killed  on  Christmas  Day  and 
we  are  terribly  broken  up  over  it.  He  was  going  from 
this  hospital  to  the  "poste  we  go  to  daily  over  a  road  up 
the  mountain.  At  four  o'clock  Christmas  morning 
one  of  our  boys  started  up  this  road,  which  goes  up 
and  up  with  no  level  place  on  it.  He  passed  the  mid- 
dle of  the  journey  when  he  thought  he  noticed  a 
wagon  turned  over  about  forty  feet  down  in  the  ra- 
vine. He  went  to  a  point  where  he  could  stop  his  car, 
took  his  lantern,  and  walked  back.   He  found  one  of 

217 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

our  Fords  so  demolished  it  could  not  be  distinguished. 
The  top  of  the  car  was  up  in  a  tree  and  so  were  the 
extra  tires;  there  was  nothing  on  the  ground  but  a 
chassis.  He  saw  no  one  around,  but  on  going  down  a 
little  farther,  he  saw  a  bundle  of  blankets  which  we 
always  carry  for  the  wounded,  and,  on  walking  up  to 
it,  he  found  one  of  our  fellows,  Dick  Hall.  He  was 
lying  on  his  side  with  his  arms  fixed  as  if  driving  and  in 
a  sitting  position,  cold  and  rigid.  He  had  been  dead 
a  couple  of  hours.  Walter,  who  found  him,  went  back 
up  the  road  for  assistance,  and,  while  there,  Hall's 
brother  came  along  in  his  car  and  asked  what  the 
matter  was  and  offered  his  assistance.  Walter  told 
him  his  brakes  were  not  working  and  he  was  fixing 
them,  so  Hall,  knowing  nothing  of  his  brother,  passed 
on  up  the  mountain,  got  his  load  of  wounded,  and 
took  them  to  the  hospital. 


In  the  Hospital 

January  1,  1916 

This  brings  the  war  home  to  us !  This  and  the  suf- 
fering and  torments  of  the  wounded  make  me  sick  at 
heart.  I  have  seen  them  suffer  particularly  since  this 
last  attack,  as  I  am  a  blessS  myself  —  and  am  in  a 
French  hospital.  It  is  only  a  slight  arm  wound;  the 
bone  is  cracked  a  little,  but  not  broken.  I  am  here  to 
have  the  piece  of  shell  drawn  out  and  am  assisting 
these  poor  wounded  all  I  can.  I  was  sent  to  the  poste 
we  have  nearest  the  lines,  on  the  other  side  of  the 

218 


CTfrf* 


'^  Wi  ^/    iirl^"  '-H  %  *'-  »     Q 

slil^i    <  •  '.A' ft 


»  \ 


'*% 


_^f 


i 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

mountain  and  hidden  in  the  woods.  The  trenches 
begin  at  this  poste.  The  poste  itself  is  an  abri,  a  bomb- 
proof dug-out  in  the  ground.  The  roof  and  supports 
are  made  of  timbers  a  foot  or  more  thick,  over  these 
are  placed  two  feet  of  heavy  rock  and  again  two  feet 
of  earth.  When  I  got  there  the  Germans  began  bom- 
barding, and  fired  shells  into  these  woods  and  into 
this  poste  for  almost  five  hours.  I  never  want  to  see 
another  such  bombardment;  it  was  frightful.  I  saw 
shells  land  among  horses,  smash  big  trees  in  half 
within  ten  and  twenty  yards.  I  saw  three  men  hit;  one 
had  his  face  shot  away.  The  poste  became  so  full  of 
wounded  we  had  to  stand  near  the  doorway,  which  is 
partly  protected  by  a  bomb-proof  door.  It  was  not 
exactly  safe  inside,  for  the  shells,  if  big  enough,  when 
they  hit  such  an  ahri  often  loosen  the  supports,  and 
the  roof,  weighing  tons,  falls  in  and  buries  people 
alive.  A  man  in  the  same  room  with  me  in  the  hospi- 
tal here  was  in  an  ahri  not  far  from  where  we  were 
when  it  was  struck;  the  roof  fell  and  killed  three  men 
who  were  with  him  and  he  was  buried  for  an  hour.  A 
shell  struck  a  tree  not  eight  feet  off  from  where  we 
were  standing  and  smashed  it  in  half;  it  fell  and  al- 
most killed  one  of  two  brancardiers  (stretcher-bearers) 
who  were  carrying  a  dead  man  past  the  door.  A  piece 
of  the  eclat  hit  the  other  brancardier  in  the  head  and 
killed  him.  The  man  standing  beside  me  had  his  hand 
shot  off,  and  I  got  hit  in  the  elbow.  Three  pieces  went 
through  my  coat,  but  only  one  went  into  the  arm.  If 
I  had  not  been  standing  against  the  door  I  might  have 

219 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

fared  worse.  I  was  carried  with  two  other  wounded 
by  one  of  our  fellows  up  the  steep  mountain  road  to 
our  second  poste.  They  were  bombarding  that  road  as 
well  as  the  poste.  We  could  see  the  sky  redden  from 
the  flash  of  the  guns  below  and  we  could  hear  the 
shells  shriek  as  they  came  toward  us,  and  the  eclat  not 
too  far  away.  Twice  we  started  the  Ford  on  the  way 
up;  it  stalled  and  took  five  precious  minutes  to  get  it 
going  again.  The  force  of  one  explosion  knocked  the 
fellow  with  me  over  when  he  walked  ahead  to  try  and 
make  out  the  road.  We  stuck  in  the  road  twice,  not 
daring  to  pass  a  wagon  conveying  munitions.  We 
could  not  make  the  hill,  it  was  so  steep,  and  we  had  to 
seek  men  to  push  us.  It  was  pitch-black  and  we  could 
not  use  our  lights.  This  with  two  gravely  wounded 
men  on  our  hands  rather  took  the  nerve  out  of  us.  We 
finally  got  back  to  headquarters  and  found  them  bom- 
barding there,  one  shell  having  struck  not  far  from 
the  hospital. 

January  20 

I  am  still  in  the  hospital,  but  am  glad  to  say  my 
arm  is  almost  quite  well  again.  It  does  take  time. 
The  bombardment  by  the  Germans  of  all  our  former 
posies  has  become  pretty  nerve-racking.  The  house 
we  took  for  the  attack  has  been  hit  twice.  We  had 
moved  out  only  the  day  before.  They  struck  a  school- 
house  close  by  and  killed  a  nun  and  wounded  three 
harmless  children.  Our  cars  have  been  hit  by  scraps 
of  shell,  but  fortunately  when  none  of  the  men  were 
in  them. 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

The  suffering  of  the  men  in  this  hospital  and  the 
cries  in  the  night  make  it  an  inferno.  Though  I  am 
glad  I  can  help  a  little,  I  must  say  it  is  on  my  nerves. 

In  this  hospital  —  which  is  one  of  the  best  —  they 
need  very  badly  beds  for  men  who  have  had  their 
vertebrae  broken.  These  men  live  from  two  to  six 
months  in  a  frame  on  their  backs  all  the  time.  This  is 
the  way  they  spend  the  last  months  of  their  lives. 
We  have  three  men  in  this  condition  now,  and  each 
time  they  are  moved  it  takes  at  least  four  men  to 
change  them  and  they  suffer  terribly.  The  special 
beds  I  speak  of  are  made  on  pulleys  with  bottom  and 
sides  which  can  be  opened  for  washing  and  service 
purposes.  They  cost  forty  dollars  and  France  cannot 
afford  to  buy  them,  as  she  has  so  many  needs.  If  you 
could  raise  some  money  for  this  purpose,  you  would 
be  doing  these  poor  fellows  the  last  favors  they  will 
have  on  this  earth  and  help  them  in  their  suffering. 

L.  C.  D. 


221 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 


New  Quarters 

August  6,  1915 

I  was  deliglited  to  see  "Doc"  to-day.    He  arrived 

yesterday  evening  from  Paris,  but  I  was  on  M 

duty,  so  we  did  not  meet  until  this  morning.  We  had 
a  long  talk  and  I  told  him  the  story  of  the  fatal  22d; 
the  recital  of  it  only  seems  to  have  reimpressed  me 
with  the  horror  of  that  night. 

We  are  now  quite  comfortably  settled  in  our  new 
quarters,  a  house  never  shelled  until  just  after  our 
occupation  of  it,  when  we  received  a  77  a  few  feet 
from  our  windows.  I  do  not  know  why  it  has  been 
spared  unless  the  Bodies  were  anxious  not  to  destroy 
a  creation  so  obviously  their  own.  Architecturally  it 
is  incredible  —  a  veritable  pastry  cook's  chef  d'oeuvre. 
Some  of  the  colors  within  are  so  vivid  that  hours  of 
darkness  cannot  drive  them  out  of  vision.  There  is 
no  piano,  but  musical  surprises  abound.  Everything 
you  touch  or  move  promptly  plays  a  tune,  even  a 

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THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

stein  plays  ** Deuischland  ilber  alles**  —  or  something. 
Still  the  garden  full  of  fruit  and  vegetables  will  make 
up  for  the  rest.  Over  the  brook  which  runs  through 
it  is  a  little  rustic  bridge  —  all  imitation  wood  made 
of  cast  iron  I  Just  beneath  the  latter  I  was  electrified 
to  discover  a  very  open-mouthed  and  particularly 
yellow  crockery  frog  quite  eighteen  inches  long  I  A 
stone  statue  of  a  dancing  boy  in  front  of  the  house 
was  too  much  for  us  all.  We  ransacked  the  attic  and 
found  some  articles  of  clothing  belonging  to  our  ab- 
sent hostess,  and  have  so  dressed  it  that,  with  a  tin 
can  in  its  hand,  it  now  looks  like  an  inadequately  clad 
lady  speeding  to  her  bath-house  with  a  pail  of  fresh 
water. 
Last  night  "Mac"  and  I  were  on  night  duty  at 

M ,  and  when  we  arrived  at  the  telephone  bureau 

—  where  we  lie  on  stretchers  fully  dressed  in  our  blan- 
kets waiting  for  a  call  (the  rats  would  keep  you  awake 
if  there  were  no  work  to  do)  —  we  were  told  that  they 
expected  a  bad  bombardment  of  the  village.  "Mae" 
and  I  tossed  up  for  the  first  call,  and  I  lost.  "  Auberge 
Saint-Pierre,  I  bet,"  laughed  "Mac."  That  is  our 
worst  trip  —  but  it  was  to  be  something  even  more 
unpleasant  than  usual.  About  eleven  o'clock  the 
Boches  started  shelling  the  little  one-street  village 
with  105  shrapnel.  In  the  midst  of  it  a  brancardier 
came  running  in  to  ask  for  an  ambulance  —  three 
couches/' ires  presse.'^  Of  course,  I  had  to  grin  and 
bear  it,  but  it  is  a  horrid  feeling  to  have  to  go  out  into 
a  little  street  where  shells  are  falling  regularly  — 

223 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

start  your  motor  —  turn  —  back  —  and  run  a  few 
yards  down  the  street  to  a  poste  de  secours  where  a 
shell  has  just  landed  and  another  is  due  any  moment. 

"Are  your  wounded  ready?"  I  asked,  as  calmly  as 
I  could.  ^'Oui,  monsieur  J'  So  out  I  went  —  and  was 
welcomed  by  two  shells  —  one  on  my  right  and  the 
other  just  down  the  street.  I  cranked  up  N^  10,  the 
brancardier  jumped  up  by  my  side,  and  we  drove  to 
our  destination.  I  decided  to  leave  the  ambulance  on 
the  left  side  of  the  road  (the  side  nearer  the  trenches 
and  therefore  more  protected  by  houses  from  shell- 
fire),  as  I  thought  it  safer  on  learning  that  it  would  be 
fifteen  minutes  before  the  wounded  were  ready;  and 
luckily  for  me,  for  a  shell  soon  landed  on  the  other 
side  of  the  road  where  I  usually  leave  the  ambulance. 
My  wounded  men  were  now  ready;  it  appeared  that 
one  of  the  shrapnel  shells  had  entered  a  window  and 
exploded  inside  a  room  where  seven  soldiers,  resting 
after  a  hard  day's  work  in  the  trenches,  were  sleeping 
—  with  the  appalling  result  of  four  dead  and  three 
terribly  wounded.  As  I  felt  my  way  to  the  hospital 
along  that  pitch-black  road,  I  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing why  those  poor  fellows  were  chosen  for  the  sacri- 
fice instead  of  us  others  in  the  telephone  bureau  — 
sixty  yards  down  the  street. 

However,  here  I  am  writing  to  you,  safe  and  sound, 
on  the  little  table  by  my  bedside,  with  a  half-burnt 
candle  stuck  in  a  Muratti  cigarette  box.  Outside  the 
night  is  silent  —  my  window  is  open  and  in  the 
draught  the  wax  has  trickled  down  on  to  the  box  and 

224 


THE  INSPECTOR'S  LETTER  BOX 

then  to  the  table  —  unheeded  —  for  my  thoughts 
have  sped  far.  To  Gloucester  days,  and  winter  even- 
ings spent  in  the  old  brown-panelled,  raftered  room, 
with  its  pewter  lustrous  in  the  candlelight;  and  the 
big,  cheerful  fire  that  played  with  our  shadows  on  the 
wall,  while  we  talked  or  read  —  and  were  content. 
Well  —  that  peace  has  gone  for  a  while,  but  these 
days  will  likewise  pass,  and  we  are  young.  It  has 
been  good  to  be  here  in  the  presence  of  high  courage 
and  to  have  learned  a  little  in  our  youth  of  the  values 
of  life  and  death. 

Leslie  Buswell 


THE  POETRY  OF  WAR 

We  have  had  much  talk  to-night  about  the  proba- 
ble effect  of  the  war  upon  art  and  literature  in  differ- 
ent countries,  and  gradually  the  discussion  shifted 
from  prophecy  to  history  and  from  the  abstract  to  the 
concrete,  and  narrowed  down  to  the  question  as  to  the 
best  poem  the  war  has  already  produced.  In  France 
enough  verse  has  been  inspired  by  the  war  to  fill  a 
"five-foot  shelf"  of  India-paper  editions,  but  we  all 
had  finally  to  admit  that  none  of  us  was  in  a  position 
to  choose  the  winner  in  such  a  vast  arena.  Among 
the  short  poems  in  English,  some  voted  for  Rupert 
Brookes's  sonnet  which  begins :  — 

"  If  I  should  die,  think  only  this  of  me: 

That  there 's  some  corner  of  a  foreign  field 
That  is  forever  England." 

But  nothing  that  any  of  us  has  seen  is  more  in- 
spired than  the  verses  which  poured  from  the  heart 
and  mind  of  a  young  American  in  the  Foreign  Legion 
here  in  France.  His  name  is  Alan  Seeger,  and  the 
poem  was  written  in,  and  named  from,  the  region  in 
which  his  regiment  was  stationed.  It  is  called  "  Cham- 
pagne, 1914-15,"  and  was  printed  in  the  North  Amer- 
lean  Review  for  October,  1915. 


226 


ALAN    SEEGER 

SOLDIER  OF  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

KILLED    IN    ACTION 

JULY    4,  1916 

Yet,  sought  they  neither  recompense  nor  praise. 

Nor  to  be  mentioned  in  another  breath 

Than  their  blue-coated  comrades  whose  great  days 

It  was  their  pride  to  share,  ay!  share  even  to  death. 
Nay,  rather,  France,  to  you  they  rendered  thanks 

(Seeing  they  came  for  honor,  not  for  gain). 
Who,  opening  to  them  your  glorious  ranks. 
Gave  them  that  grand  occasion  to  excel. 

That  chance  to  live  the  life  most  free  from  stain 
And  that  rare  privilege  of  dying  well. 


From  a  poem  vyritten  by  him  in  memory  of  American  Volunteers  fallen 
for  France,  upon  the  occasion  of  the  unveiling  of  the  Lafayette- Washington 
statue  in  Paris,  May  30, 1916. 


CHAMPAGNE,   1914-15 

In  the  glad  revels,  in  the  happy  fetes, 

When  cheeks  are  flushed,  and  glasses  gilt  and 
pearled 
With  the  sweet  wine  of  France  that  concentrates 

The  sunshine  and  the  beauty  of  the  world. 

Drink,  sometimes,  you  whose  footsteps  yet  may  tread 
The  undisturbed,  delightful  paths  of  Earth, 

To  those  whose  blood,  in  pious  duty  shed, 

Hallows  the  soil  where  that  same  wine  had  birth. 

Here,  by  devoted  comrades  laid  away. 

Along  our  lines  they  slumber  where  they  fell, 

Beside  the  crater  at  the  Ferme  d'Alger 
And  up  the  bloody  slopes  of  La  Pompelle, 

And  round  the  city  whose  cathedral  towers 
The  enemies  of  Beauty  dared  profane. 

And  in  the  mat  of  multicolored  flowers 

That  clothe  the  sunny  chalk-fields  of  Champagne. 

Under  the  little  crosses  where  they  rise 

The  soldier  rests.  Now  round  him  undismayed 

The  cannon  thunders,  and  at  night  he  lies 
At  peace  beneath  the  eternal  fusillade.  .  .  . 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

» 

That  other  generations  might  possess  — 

From  shame  and  menace  free  in  years  to  come  — 

A  richer  heritage  of  happiness. 

He  marched  to  that  heroic  martyrdom. 

Esteeming  less  the  forfeit  that  he  paid 

Than  undishonored  that  his  flag  might  float 

Over  the  towers  of  liberty,  he  made 
His  breast  the  bulwark  and  his  blood  the  moat. 

Obscurely  sacrificed,  his  nameless  tomb 
Bare  of  the  sculptor's  art,  the  poet's  lines, 

Summer  shall  flush  with  poppy-fields  in  bloom. 
And  Autumn  yellow  with  maturing  vines. 

There  the  grape-pickers  at  their  harvesting 
Shall  lightly  tread  and  load  their  wicker  trays. 

Blessing  his  memory  as  they  toil  and  sing 
In  the  slant  sunshine  of  October  days. 

I  love  to  think  that  if  my  blood  should  be 
So  privileged  to  sink  where  his  has  sunk, 

I  shall  not  pass  from  Earth  entirely. 
But  when  the  banquet  rings,  when  healths  are 
drunk. 

And  faces,  that  the  joys  of  living  fill. 

Glow  radiant  with  laughter  and  good  cheer. 

In  beaming  cups  some  spark  of  me  shall  still 
Brim  toward  the  lips  that  once  I  held  so  dear. 


CHAMPAGNE,  1914-15 

So  shall  one,  coveting  no  higher  plane 

Than  Nature  clothes  in  color  and  flesh  and  tone. 
Even  from  the  grave  put  upward  to  attain 

The  dreams  youth  cherished  and  missed  and  might 
have  known. 

And  that  strong  need  that  strove  unsatisfied 
Toward  earthly  beauty  in  all  forms  it  wore. 

Not  death  itself  shall  utterly  divide 
From  the  beloved  shapes  it  thirsted  for. 

Alas,  how  many  an  adept,  for  whose  arms 
Life  held  delicious  offerings,  perished  here  — 

How  many  in  the  prime  of  all  that  charms. 

Crowned  with  all  gifts  that  conquer  and  endear! 

Honor  them  not  so  much  with  tears  and  flowers. 
But  you  with  whom  the  sweet  fulfilment  lies. 

Where  in  the  anguish  of  atrocious  hours 

Turned  their  last  thoughts  and  closed  their  dying 
eyes, 

Rather,  when  music  on  bright  gatherings  lays 
Its  tender  spell,  and  joy  is  uppermost. 

Be  mindful  of  the  men  they  were,  and  raise 
Your  glasses  to  them  in  one  silent  toast. 

Drink  to  them  —  amorous  of  dear  Earth  as  well, 
They  asked  no  tribute  lovelier  than  this  — 

And  in  the  wine  that  ripened  where  they  fell, 
Oh,  frame  your  lips  as  though  it  were  a  kiss. 


XIII 

TRIBUTES  AND   CITATIONS 

ArmSes  de  VEsi 


G.  Q.  C,  le  U  Mai  1916. 


^tot-Major  GinSrcU 

Neuillt-sub-Sbinb 

Le  General  Commandant  en  Chef  k  Monsieur  Piatt 
Andrbw,  Inspeeteur  General  du  Service  aux  Ar- 
mies de  rh6pital  Am^ricain  de  Neuilly 

Je  vous  remercie  vivement  pour  votre  offre 
d'une  nouvelle  section  automobile,  qui  va  porter  a 
cinq  le  nombre  de  vos  formations  sanitaires  aux 
armees. 

Je  tiens  a  vous  exprimer  ma  satisfaction  de  Toeuvre 
accomplie  par  vos  volontaires  qui  n'ont  cesse,  en 
toutes  circonstances,  de  faire  preuve  de  courage, 
d'endurance  et  de  devouement. 

Les  bons  resultats  donnes  par  votre  organisation 
sont  dus,  pour  une  bonne  part,  a  votre  activity  et 
votre  zele  inlassables. 

Agreez,  Monsieur,  Texpression  de  ma  considera- 
tion tr^s  distinguee. 


m 


TRIBUTES  AND  CITATIONS 

ITBANSLATIONl 

Armies  of  the  East  ^       ,  „     , 
Grand  Headquarters,  2^  May,  1916 

General  Staff 

The  General  Commanding  in  Chief  to  Monsieur  Piatt  Andrew,  Inspec- 
tor General  of  Army  Service  of  the  American  Hospital  of  Neuilly, 
at  Neuilly-sur-Seine. 

I  thank  you  warmly  for  your  offer  of  an  additional  automobile  sec- 
tion, which  will  increase  to  five  the  number  of  your  sanitary  units  with 
the  army. 

I  desire  to  express  to  you  my  satisfaction  with  the  work  performed 
by  your  volunteers  who  have  unremittingly,  under  all  conditions,  given 
proof  of  their  courage,  endurance,  and  devotion. 

The  excellent  results  achieved  by  your  units  are  due  in  large  measure 
to  your  own  untiring  activity  and  zeal. 

Accept,  Monsieur,  the  assurance  of  my  most  distinguished  considera- 
tion. 


231 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

MinisQre  de  la  Guerre 


Sous-Secretariat  djtat  du  RtPUBUQUE  Francaise 

Service  de  Sante  M%l%ta%re 


!*'■*  Division  Techn. 


Paris,  le  31  oetobre  1915 

Monsieur  y  — 

Mon  attention  a  ete  appelee  sur  les  services 
eminents  rendus  au  Service  de  Sante  par  la  Section 
Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  N^  2,  que  vous 
dirigez,  et  particulierement  sur  le  zele  et  le  courage 
avec  lequel  elle  a  porte  secours  a  nos  blesses,  dans  la 
region  de  Pont-a-Mousson. 

J'ai  appris  avec  plaisir  que  votre  formation  dans 
son  ensemble,  et  la  plupart  de  ses  membres  a  titre 
particulier,  avaient  ete  cites  k  Tordre  du  jour  de  la 
fjrgeme  j)ivision  de  Reserve. 

Je  me  fais  un  devoir  d'adresser  a  la  Section  Sani- 
taire Automobile  Americaine  N°  2,  les  sinceres  re- 
merciements  du  Departement  de  la  Guerre. 

(Signe)        Justin  Godard 

Monsieur  Salisbury 
CheJ  de  la  Section  Sanitaire  Automobile  N°  2 

PoNT-A-MoUSSON 

(TRANSLATION] 

War  Department 

Office  of  the  Under  Secretary  R^publique  Francaise 

Military  Sanitation  Service 

First  Technical  Division 


Paris,  31  October,  1915 
Monsieur,  — 

My  attention  has  been  called  to  the  eminent  services  rendered 
to  the  Sanitation  Service  by  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section 

232 


TRIBUTES  AND  CITATIONS 

No.  2,  which  is  under  your  direction,  and  especially  to  the  zeal  and  courage 
with  which  it  carried  succour  to  our  wounded  in  the  Pont-a-Mousson 
district, 

I  have  learned  with  pleasure  that  your  unit  as  a  whole,  and  the 
greater  number  of  its  members,  have  been  mentioned  in  the  orders  of  the 
day  of  the  73rd  Reserve  Division. 

I  make  it  my  duty  to  extend  to  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Sec- 
tion No.  2,  the  sincere  gratitude  of  the  War  Department. 

(Signed)        Justin  Godabd 

Monsieur  Salisbury 
Commanding  Automobile  Sanitary  Section  No.  2. 

PoNT-A-MoUSSON 


233 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 


MinisQre 
de  la  Guerre 

Cabinet  RiPUBUQUE   FrAN^AISE 

du 
Sous-SecrHaire  d'etat 


Paris,  le  23  mai  1916 

Monsieur,  — 

Je  connais  et  apprecie  la  part  tres  active  que 
vous  et  vos  amis  avez  pris  aux  propagandes  faites  en 
Amerique,  depuis  le  debut  de  la  guerre,  en  f  aveur  de  la 
cause  du  Droit  que  def  endent  la  France  et  ses  Allies. 
Je  sais,  en  particulier,  vos  efforts  pour  aboutir  a  la 
manifestation  de  la  sympathie  de  vos  concitoyens  pour 
nos  vaillants  soldats,  par  une  cooperation  effective 
et  pratique  a  la  tache  du  Service  de  Sante  frangais. 
Aussi  je  tiens  a  vous  exprimer,  d'une  fagon  speciale, 
toute  la  satisfaction  que  donnent  a  mon  Departement, 
depuis  leur  entree  en  service  aux  Armees,  les  Sections 
sanitaires  automobiles  de  TAmbulance  americaine. 

Grace  non  seulement  a  leur  excellent  organisation 
materielle,  mais  encore  et  surtout  au  devouement 
courageux  du  personnel  d'elite  que  nous  a  envoye 
votre  Pays  pour  les  diriger,  ces  Sections  contribuent, 
de  la  fagon  la  plus  heureuse,  a  attenuer  les  souffrances 
de  nos  blesses,  en  abr^geant  les  heures  si  douloureuses 
qui  s'ecoulent  entre  le  moment  ou  le  soldat  tombe  sur 
le  champ  de  bataille  et  celui  ou  il  pent  recevoir,  dans 
des  conditions  convenables,  les  soins  qu'exige  son  etat. 

Veuillez  done  agreer,  pour  vous.  Monsieur,  et 
transmettre  a  vos  amis  d'Amerique  Tassurance  de  ma 
profonde  gratitude,  pour  Toeuvre  que  vous  avez  si  par- 

234 


TRIBUTES  AND  CITATIONS 

faitement  congue  et  r^alisee,  et  dont  vos  compatriotes 
continuent  d'assurer  Tentretien  en  personnel  et  en 
materiel,  avec  autant  de  vaillance  que  de  generosite. 
Agreez,  Monsieur,  I'assurance  de  ma  consideration 
distinguee. 

(Signe)        Justin  Godard 

Monsieur  Piatt-Andrew 

[TRANSLATIONl 

War 
Department 


Office  R^PUBLiQUE  Francaisb 

of  the 
Under-Secretary 

Paris,  23  May,  1916. 
Monsieur,  — 

1  know  and  value  highly  the  very  active  part  that  you  and  your 
friends  have  taken  in  the  propaganda  carried  on  in  America,  ever  since 
the  outbreak  of  war,  in  favour  of  the  cause  of  Right,  which  France  and 
her  Allies  are  defending.  1  know,  in  particular,  of  yoiu*  efforts  to  arrive 
at  a  manifestation  of  the  sympathy  of  your  fellow  citizens  for  our  gallant 
soldiers,  by  effective  and  practical  cooperation  in  the  work  of  the  French 
Sanitary  Service.  Therefore  I  am  desirous  of  expressing  to  you,  with 
special  emphasis,  the  perfect  satisfaction  which  the  Automobile  Sani- 
tary Sections  of  the  American  Ambulance  have  given  my  department 
since  they  first  entered  the  service  of  our  armies. 

Thanks  not  only  to  their  excellent  material  organization,  but  beyond 
even  that,  to  the  courageous  devotion  of  the  picked  personnel  which 
your  country  has  sent  us  to  lead  them,  these  Sections  are  contributing 
in  the  most  gratifying  fashion  toward  lessening  the  sufferings  of  our 
wounded  by  shortening  the  agonizing  hours  that  elapse  between  the 
time  when  the  soldier  falls  on  the  battlefield  and  that  when  he  is  able  to 
receive,  under  suitable  conditions,  the  care  that  his  condition  demands. 

Pray,  therefore.  Monsieur,  accept  for  yourselves  and  convey  to  your 
friends  in  America  the  assurance  of  my  profound  gratitude  for  the  work 
which  you  have  planned  and  carried  on  so  perfectly,  and  of  which  your 
compatriots  continue  to  ensure  the  support,  both  in  personnel  and  in  sup- 
plies, with  no  less  gallantry  than  generosity. 

Accept,  Monsieur,  the  assurance  of  my  distinguished  consideration. 

(Signed)      Justin  Godaed 

Monsieur  Piatt  Andrew 

235 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Chambre 
des  Deputes  RfepUBLIQUE  FsANgAISB 


Paris,  le  6  aSut  1915 

Monsieur  le  Diredeur,  — 

J'ai  rhonneur  de  vous  remercier,  au  nom  de  la 
Commission  d' Hygiene  publique,  des  soins  eclaires  et 
devoues  que  T Ambulance  Americaine  prodigue  a  nos 
blesses  de  Pont-a-Mousson. 

Dans  les  tristes  heures  que  nous  vivons,  11  nous  est 
particulierement  doux  de  savoir  que  des  mains  amies 
s'empressent  autour  de  ceux  des  notres  qui  si  coura- 
geusement  versent  leur  sang  pour  Ja  defence  de  notre 
Pays. 

Veuillez  agr^er,  Monsieur  le  Directeur,  Tassurance 
de  ma  haute  consideration. 

(Signe)         Le  President 
Db.  h.  Doizt  "  Dr.  H.  Doizy 

Maison  de  Convalescence 
Sabcelles  (Seine  et  Oise) 

ITBANSLATION] 

Chamber 
of  Deputies  RifipuBUQUB  Francaisb 


Paris,  6  August,  1915 
Monsieur  le  Directeur,  — ■ 

I  have  the  honor  to  thank  you,  in  the  name  of  the  Commission 
of  Public  Health,  for  the  enlightened  and  devoted  attention  which  the 
American  Ambulance  is  lavishing  upon  our  wounded  at  Pont-a-Mousson. 
In  the  distressing  hours  that  we  are  passing  through,  it  is  particularly 
sweet  to  us  to  know  that  friendly  hands  are  zealously  employed  about 
those  of  our  troops  who  are  shedding  their  blood  so  fearlessly  in  defence 
of  our  country. 

Pray  accept.  Monsieur  le  Directeur,  the  assurance  of  my  distinguished 
consideration. 

(Signed)        The  President 

Dr.  H.  Doizt  Db.  H.  DoizY 

Convalescents'  Home 
Sabcelles  (Seine  et  Oise) 

236 


TRIBUTES  AND  CITATIONS 

Ditachement  (VArmie 
de  Belgique 

J^tai-Major 

Au  Q.  G.  le  5  max  1915 

1^  Bureau 

Le   General   Putz,    Commandant   le   Detachement 

d'Armee  de  Belgique, 
a   Monsieur   Andrew,   Inspecteur   du   Service   des 

Ambulances  de  THopital  Am6ricain 

Monsieur,  — 

Mon  attention  a  ete  appelee  sur  les  precieux 
services  rendus  au  detachement  d'Armee  de  Belgique 
par  la  Section  Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  qui 
lui  est  attachee. 

Cette  Section  a  du,  en  effet,  concurremment  avec  la 
Section  Anglaise,  assurer  Tevacuation  d'Elverdinghe 
sur  Poperinghe  de  nombreux  militaires  blesses  au 
cours  des  recents  combats.  Malgre  le  bombardement 
d'Elverdinghe,  des  routes  qui  y  accedent,  et  de  I'Am- 
bulance  meme,  cette  evacuation  s'est  effectue  nuit  et 
jour,  sans  interruption,  et  dans  d'excellentes  condi- 
tions de  promptitude  et  de  regularite. 

Je  ne  saurais  trop  louer  le  courage  et  le  devoue- 
ment  dont  a  fait  preuve  le  personnel  de  la  Section  et 
je  vous  serais  oblige  de  vouloir  bien  lui  transmettre 
mes  felicitations  et  mes  remerciements  pour  I'effort 
physique  considerable  qu'il  a  si  genereusement  con- 
sen  ti,  et  les  signales  services  qu'il  a  rendus. 

Veuillez  agreer.  Monsieur,  I'expression  de  ma  con- 
sideration tres  distinguee. 

(Signe)  Putz 

237 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

ITBANSLATION] 


Detachment  of  the  Army 
of  Belgium 


Staff 

Headquarters,  5  May,  1915. 


l»t  Bureau 

General  Putz, 

Commanding  the  Detachment  of  the  Army  of  Belgium, 
to  Monsiem-  Andrew, 

Inspector  of  the  Ambulance  Service  of  the  American  Hospital. 

Monsieur,  — 

My  attention  has  been  called  to  the  valuable  services  rendered 
to  this  army  by  the  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section,  which  is 
attached  to  it. 

This  Section  did,  in  fact,  in  conjunction  with  the  English  Section,  safe- 
guard the  removal  from  Elverdinghe  to  Poperinghe  of  numerous  soldiers 
wounded  in  recent  battles.  Despite  the  bombardment  of  Elverdinghe, 
of  the  roads  leading  to  it,  and  of  the  Ambulance  itseK,  this  removal  was 
proceeded  with,  night  and  day,  without  interruption,  and  with  particular 
eflficiency  as  to  speed  and  regularity. 

I  cannot  possibly  praise  too  highly  the  courage  and  devotion  mani- 
fested by  the  members  of  the  Section,  and  I  should  be  obliged  to  you  if 
you  would  kindly  transmit  to  them  my  congratulations  and  my  thanks 
for  the  great  physical  effort  which  they  so  generously  consented  to  make, 
and  for  the  notable  services  they  have  rendered. 

Pray  accept.  Monsieur,  the  assurance  of  my  most  distinguished  con- 
sideration. 

(Signed)      Putz 


238 


TRIBUTES  AND  CITATIONS 

EXTRAIT  DE  L'ORDRE  D'ETAPES 
N^  661   POUR  LA  JOURNEE  DU 
6  JUIN   1916 

Felicitations: 

Le  General  D.  E.  S.  adresse  ses  felicitations 
au  Personnel  militaire  et  aux  infirmieres,  de  I'H.  O.  E. 
20,  pour  le  devouement  et  le  sang-froid  dont  il  a  fait 
preuve  le  I^''  Juin,  pendant  le  bombardement  de 
Bar-le-Duc  par  les  avions  allemands,  au  cours  du- 
quel  les  Officiers  et  Hommes  de  troupe  dont  les  noms 
suivent  se  sont  fait  plus  particulierement  remarquer: 

Les  Militaires  de  la  Section  Sanitaire  Americaine 
N°  2,  qui  resterent  tons  a  decouvert  pendant  la 
duree  du  bombardement  et  se  porterent,  a  chaque 
bombe  qui  eclatait,  au  secours  des  victimes,  sans 
souci  du  danger  dont  ils  etaient  menaces. 

EXTRACT  FROM  ORDRE  D'fiTAPES, 
NO.  661,  FOR  6  JUNE,  1916 

Congratulations  : 

General  D.  E.  S.  offers  his  congratulations  to  the  military  per- 
sonnel and  nurses  of  H.  O.  E.  20  on  the  devotion  and  sang-froid  which 
they  displayed  on  June  1,  during  the  bombardment  of  Bar-le-Duc  by  Ger- 
man air-ships,  in  the  course  of  which  the  officers  and  men  whose  names 
follow  particularly  distinguished  themselves: 

The  military  members  of  American  Sanitary  Section  No.  2,  all  of  whom 
remained  exposed  throughout  the  bombardment,  and  at  every  explosion 
of  a  bomb,  hastened  to  the  assistance  of  the  victims,  regardless  of  the 
danger  with  which  they  were  threatened. 


239 


1*«  Armde 
73^"'''  Division 

Etat-Major 

i**"  Bureau 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 


Au  Q.  G.,  le  20  juillei  1915 


Ordre  de  liA  Division  N°  485 

Le  General  Commandant  la  Division  cite  a  Tordre: 
"Section  Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine 

"Composee  de  volontaires,  amis  de  notre 
pays,  n'a  cesse  de  se  faire  remarquer  par  I'entrain,  le 
courage  et  le  zele  de  tons  ses  membres  qui,  insouciants 
du  danger,  se  sont  employes  sans  repit  a  secourir 
nos  blesses,  dont  ils  se  sont  acquis  la  reconnaissance 
et  Tamitie." 

Le  General  Lebocq 
Commandant  la  73^°^^  Division 
(Signe)        Lebocq 


First  Army 
73rd  Division 

Staff 

First  Bureau 


rrRANSLATIONJ 

Headquarters,  20  July,  1915 


Divisional  Order  No.  485 

The  General  commanding  the  Division  "mentions"  in  general  orders: 
"  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section  No.  2 

"  Composed  of  volunteers,  friends  of  our  country,  has  constantly 
attracted  favorable  notice  by  the  enthusiasm,  the  courage,  and  the  zeal 
of  all  its  members,  who,  regardless  of  danger,  have  been  employed,  with- 
out respite,  in  rescuing  our  wounded,  whose  gratitude  and  affection  they 
have  won." 

General  Lebocq 
Commanding  the  73rd  Division 
(Signed)        Lebocq 

240       . 


TRIBUTES  AND  CITATIONS 

VII^"^  Armie 
66^""  Division 

6  novembre  1915 

Le  General  Serret,  Commandant  la  66^°^^  Divi- 
sion d'Inf anterie,  cite  a  I'Ordre  de  la  Division :  — 

"La  Section  Sanitaire  Americaine  N°  3  et  son 
Chef  Mr.  Lovering  Hill 

"*A  de  nouveau  affirme  son  inlassable  devoue- 
ment  en  assurant  avec  une  froide  cranerie  et  dans  des 
circonstances  ties  correctes  pendant  les  journees 
et  les  nuits  des  15,  16  et  17  octobre  1915,  dans  une 
region  difficilement  practicable  et  en  partie  battue 
par  le  feu  de  Fennemi,  I'evacuation  de  nombreux 
blesses.'" 

[TRANSLATION] 

Seventh  Army 
66th  Division 

November  6,  1915 

General  Serret  Commanding  the  66th  Infantry  Division,  "mentions'* 
in  general  orders:  — 

""The  American  Sanitary  Section  No.  3,  and  its  commander,  Mr. 
Lovering  Hill 

"  *  Has  demonstrated  anew  its  unwearying  devotion,  by  safeguard- 
ing with  cool  audacity  and  in  perfect  order,  during  the  days  and  nights 
of  October  15,  16,  and  17,  1915,  in  a  district  in  which  such  movements 
were  very  dangerous,  and  which  was  partly  within  range  of  the  enemy's 
guns,  the  removal  of  numerous  wounded.'  " 


241 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

[TELEGRAM] 

Nancy,  ^  juillet  1915 

Le  Pref  et  de  Nancy  a  Ambulance  Americaine,  Pont-a- 
Mousson 

En  ce  jour  ou  vous  celebrez  fete  votre  inde- 
pendance  nationale,  a  I'heure  meme  ou  dans  des  rudes 
combats  la  France  defend  son  independance  contra 
un  ennemi  dont  la  folie  de  domination  menace  la 
liberte  de  tons  les  peuples  et  dont  les  procedes  bar- 
bares  menacent  les  conquetes  morales  de  la  civilisa- 
tion, vous  adresse  expression  profondes  sympathies 
frangaises  pour  votre  grande  et  genereuse  nation,  et 
je  saisis  cette  occasion  vous  presenter  nouvelles  assur- 
ances gratitude  emue  populations  lorraines  pour 
devouement  admirable  de  tons  les  membres  Ambu- 
lance Americaine  de  Pont-a-Mousson. 

MiRMAN 

ITRANSLATIONJ 

Nancy,  ^  July,  1915 

Prefect  of  Nancy  to  American  Ambulance,  Pont-a-Mousson 

On  this  day  when  you  celebrate  anniversary  your  national  inde- 
pendence, at  the  very  hour  when  in  hard-fought  battles  France  defends 
her  independence  against  a  foe  whose  mad  lust  for  world-domination 
threatens  liberty  of  all  nations,  and  whose  savage  deeds  threaten  moral 
conquests  of  civilization,  I  extend  you  profound  French  affection  for 
your  great  and  generous  nation,  and  seize  opportunity  to  offer  renewed 
assurances  heartfelt  gratitude  people  of  Lorraine,  for  admirable  devo- 
tion of  all  members  American  Ambulance,  Pont-a-Mousson. 

MiRMAN 


242 


TRIBUTES  AND  CITATIONS 


66^'^'  Division  d' Infant*'  Q.  G.,  le  21  Janvier  1916 

Medecin  Divisionnaire 

Le  Medecin  Principal  de  2^°^^  Classe  Georges,  Medecin 
Divisionnaire  de  la  66^™^  Division  d'Infanterie, 
a  Monsieur  le  Lieutenant  Commandant  la  Section 
Sanitaire  Americaine  N^  3 

J'ai  pu  voir  a  ToeuvTe  journellement  depuis 
sept  mois  la  Section  Sanitaire  Automobile  Ameri- 
caine N**  3  qui  est  a  la  disposition  de  la  66^°^^  Di- 
vision depuis  pres  d'un  an.  Elle  a  eu  a  operer 
constamment  dans  une  region  dont  les  routes  sont 
particulierement  difficiles.  *  Elle  a  eu  a  supporter 
k  maintes  reprises  un  travail  absolument  intensif  de 
jour  et  de  nuit,  dtl  a  di verses  chaudes  actions  mili- 
taires  ay  ant  entraine  en  quelques  jours  un  chiffre 
eleve  d'evacuations. 

En  toutes  circonstances,  tous  et  chacun  ont  fait 
leur  devoir,  —  et  plus  que  leur  devoir,  —  avec  un 
parfait  mepris  personnel  du  danger,  avec  une  sim- 
plicite  touchante,  avec  un  imperturbable  sang-froid 
n'ayant  d'egal  que  Tempressement  f oncierement  gene- 
reux  des  secours  inlassablement  apportes. 

La  mort  d*un  conducteur  tue  a  son  volant,  la 
blessure  grave  d'un  autre  conducteur  contractee  au 
cours  de  son  service,  temoignent  encore  bien  plus  que 
les  citations  a  Tordre  du  jour  decernees  a  la  Section  et 
a  un  nombre  eleve  de  ses  membres,  de  la  fagon  dont 
elle  a  compris  ses  devoirs  et  tenu  a  les  remplir. 

243 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Au  moment  ou  cette  Section,  si  bien  dirigee  par 
vous  et  par  le  lieutenant  Lovering  Hill,  quitte  la 
Division  pour  une  autre  destination,  j'ai  a  coeur  de 
lui  adresser,  —  au  nom  de  tons  nos  blesses  et  ma- 
lades,  —  mes  remercfments  les  plus  vif s  pour  la  f agon 
veritablement  admirable  dont  elle  s'est  acquittee  de 
son  service. 

(Signe)        Georges 


Seventh  Army 


[TBANSLATIONl 


66th  Infantry  Division  Headquarters,  January  21,  1916 

Divisional  Medical  Officer 

Georges,  Principal  Physician  of  the  Second  Class,  Divisional  Medical 

OflBcer  of  the  66th  Infantry  Division, 
to  Monsieur  le  Lieutenant  commanding  American  Sanitary  Section 

No.  3. 

I  have  had  the  opportunity  daily  for  seven  months  to  see  at  work 
the  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section  No.  3,  which  has  been  at 
the  disposal  of  the  66th  Division  for  nearly  a  year  past.  The  Section  has 
had  to  operate  constantly  in  a  district  where  the  roads  are  particularly 
bad.  It  has  had  on  many  occasions  to  work  day  and  night  under  the 
greatest  possible  strain,  due  to  the  fact  that  successive  fierce  actions  have 
necessitated  a  large  number  of  removals  in  a  few  days. 

Under  all  conditions  one  and  all  have  done  their  duty  — •  and  more  than 
their  duty  —  with  an  absolute  disregard  of  danger,  with  a  touching 
simplicity,  with  an  imperturbable  sang-froid  equalled  only  by  the  abso- 
lutely single-hearted  zeal  with  which  they  have  unwearyingly  given  their 
assistance. 

The  death  of  one  driver,  killed  at  his  post,  the  severe  wound  of  an- 
other driver  received  in  the  course  of  his  service,  bear  even  more  elo- 
quent witness  than  the  citations  in  the  orders  of  the  day  awarded  to  the 
Section  and  to  a  large  number  of  its  members,  to  the  way  in  which  they 
have  understood  their  duties  and  striven  to  fulfil  them. 

At  the  moment  when  this  Section,  so  ably  led  by  you  and  by  Lieu- 
tenant Lovering  Hill  is  about  to  leave  the  Division  for  another  field  of 
operation,  I  have  it  at  heart  to  offer  to  you  all,  in  the  name  of  all  our 
wounded  and  sick,  my  warmest  thanks  for  the  truly  admirable  way  in 
which  you  have  done  your  work. 

{Signed)         Georges 

244 


TRIBUTES  AND  CITATIONS 

121'^  Division 

S.  P.  76 

Le  Medecin  Aide-Major  de  l^'*^  Classe  Roclier,  Mede- 

cin-Chef  du  G.  B.  D. 
a  Monsieur  le  Lieutenant  Commandant  la  S.  S.  A.  A. 

N^7. 

J'ai  rhonneur  de  vous  f  aire  connaitre  que  pend- 
ant toute  la  duree  du  dernier  bombardement  dans  le 
secteur  de  Vic-Fontenoy,  la  Section  Sanitaire  Automo- 
bile Americaine  N°  1  a  assure  le  service  souvent  peril- 
leux  de  Fevacuation  des  blesses  avec  sang-froid,  zele 
et  devouement.  Tous  vos  conducteurs  sont  dignes 
d'eloge,  et  je  signale  particulierement  a  votre  atten- 
tion le  conducteur  Woolverton,  qui,  malgre  le  bom- 
bardement tres  rapproche  de  sa  voiture,  a  continue 
son  service  avec  la  plus  belle  assurance. 

(Signe)        Dr.  Rocher 


[TRANSLATION] 
121st  Division 


S.  P.  76 


Rocher,  Assistant  Physician  of  the  1st  Class,  Physician-in-Chief  of  the 

G.  B.  D. 
to  Monsieur  the  Lieutenant  commanding  the  S.  S.  A.  A.  No.  7. 

I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you  that  throughout  the  last  bom- 
bardment in  the  sector  of  Vic-Fontenoy,  the  American  Automobile 
Sanitary  Section  No.  1  safeguarded  the  often  very  hazardous  process 
of  removing  the  wounded,  with  coolness,  zeal,  and  devotion.  All  your 
drivers  are  deserving  of  praise,  and  I  call  particularly  to  your  attention 
Driver  Woolverton,  who,  notwithstanding  the  bombardment  very  near 
his  car,  continued  his  service  with  the  most  splendid  seK-possession. 

(Signed)        Dr.  Rocher 


THE   "CROIX   DE  GUERRE 


^^^^ 


Roger  M.  L.  Balbiani 

Leslie  Buswell 
John  Campbell 
Graham  Carev 
E.  J.  Clrley 
D.  B.  Douglass 
L.  C.  Doyle 
POWEL  Fentox 
Stephen  Galatti 
Halcott  Glover 
Dudley  Hale 
Richard  Hall 
LovERiNG  Hill 
Walter  Lovell 
James  R.  McConnell 


William  T.  Martin 

J.  Mellex 

Fraxcis  Dash  wood  Ogilvie 

j.  t.  putxam 

Durant  Rice 

George  Roeder 

Edward  Salisbury 

Bernard  Schroder 

H.  Suckle Y 

JOHX  Taylor 

Donald  M.  Waldex 

J.  31.  Walker 

Victor  White 

Harold  Willis 

William  H.  Woolverton 


■^:5^ 


CITATION  A  LA   36eme   CORPS  D'ARMEE 

BALBIANI,  Roger  M.  L.,  Conducteur,  puis  chef 
d'une  section  sanitaire  etrangere:  a  deploye  depuis 
plusieurs  mois  un  grand  devouement;  s'est  particu- 
lierement  distingue  du  22  Avril  1915  lors  de  I'at- 
taque  allemande  au  moyen  de  gazs  asphyxiants  et 
pendant  les  bombardements  de  Dunkerque. 

"MENTIONED"  IN   THE   36th   ARMY   CORPS 

BALBIANI,  Roger  M.  L.,  Driver,  afterwards  in  command  of  a  foreign 
Sanitary  Section:  for  many  months  past  has  displayed  the  most 
devoted  courage;  distinguished  himself  particularly  on  April  22,  1915, 
at  the  time  of  the  German  attack  with  asphyxiating  gas,  and  during 
the  bombardments  of  Dunkirk. 


CITATION  A  L'ORDRE  DU  SERVICE  DE 
SANTE   de   la  73eme  DIVISION 

Monsieur  BUSWELL,  LesHe,  de  la  S.  S.  A.  A.,  Con- 
ducteur tres  consciencieux,  tres  devoue  et  tres 
courageux. 

Se  presentant  pour  toutes  les  missions  danger- 
euses. 

Conduite  remarquable  pendant  le  bombarde- 
ment  du  22  Juillet. 

"MENTIONED"  IN   ORDERS  OF   THE  SANITARY  SERVICE 
OF  THE  73d    DIVISION 

BUSWELL,  Leslie,  of  the  S.  S.  A.  A.  A  most  conscientious,  faithful, 
and  fearless  driver.  Offers  himself  for  all  dangerous  duties.  Note- 
worthy conduct  during  the  bombardment  of  July  22. 


250 


CITATION  AU  ler  CORPS  D'ARMEE  COLO- 
NIALE  DIRECTION  DU  SERVICE  DE 
SANTE 

CAMPBELL,  John,  Conducteur 

Engage  volontaire  a  la  S.  S.  A.  U-1  depiiis  Jan- 
vier 1915:  a  fait  preuve  en  toutes  circonstances 
d'un  calme  imperturbable  et  d'un  absolu  devoue- 
ment.  A  assure  le  service  des  evacuations  depuis  le 
poste  de  secours  de  I'Eclusier  sous  plusieurs  bom- 
bardements  dans  des  conditions  de  rapidite  par- 
faites  et  avec  un  extreme  souci  du  confort  des 
blesses. 

"MENTIONED"  IN  THE  FIRST   COLONIAL  ARMY 
CORPS,  SANITARY  SERVICE 

CAMPBELL,  John,  Driver.  Volunteer  in  the  S.  S.  A.  U-1  since  January, 
1915:  has  given  proof,  on  all  occasions,  of  imperturbable  coolness 
and  undivided  devotion  to  dut3\  Looked  after  the  matter  of  remov- 
als from  the  dressing-station  at  TEclusier,  during  several  bombard- 
ments, with  the  greatest  possible  speed,  and  with  the  utmost  care 
for  the  comfort  of  the  wounded. 


CITATION,   A  LA   66enie   DIVISION 

CAREY,  Graham,  sujet  Americain,  domicile  a  Cam- 
bridge (Massachusetts)  Etats-Unis,  sous-chef  de 
la  Section  Sanitaire  Automobile  iVmericaine  N^  3 : 
"A  affirme  son  courage  et  son  devouement  en  al- 
lant  spontanement  recueillir,  sous  les  obus,  les 
blesses  d'un  corps  de  troupe,  voisin  de  son  poste 
d' attache,  et  en  assurant  leur  evacuation  immedi- 
ate." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th   DIVISION 

CAREY,  Graham,  an  American  subject,  living  at  Cambridge,  Massa- 
chusetts, second  in  command  of  the  American  Automobile  Sanitary 
Section  No.  3:  Manifested  his  courage  and  his  devotion  to  duty  by 
going  out  spontaneously  under  a  storm  of  shells,  to  collect  the 
wounded  of  a  detachment  stationed  near  the  post  to  which  he  was 
attached,  and  assuring  their  immediate  removal  to  the  rear. 


252 


CITATION  A  LA   66eme  DIVISION 

CURLEY,  E.  J.,  de  la  Section  Sanitaire  Automobile 
Aniericaine  N^  3,  sujet  Americain: 

"A  de  nouveau  fait  preuve  d'un  devouement 
digne  des  plus  grands  eloges  en  assurant  nuit  et 
jour,  pendant  quinze  jours,  avec  un  parfait  mepris 
du  danger,  I'evacuation  de  nonibreux  l)lesses  sur 
une  route  de  montagne  constamment  battue  par 
les  projectiles  enneniis." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th   DIVISION 

CURLEY,  E.  J.,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section  No.  3,  an 
American  subject :  Has  again  given  proof  of  a  devotion  deserving  of 
the  highest  praise,  by  safeguarding  night  and  day,  for  a  fortnight, 
with  utter  contempt  of  danger,  the  removal  of  many  wounded  over 
a  mountain  road  constantly  swept  by  the  enemy's  fire. 


CITATION   A  LA   66eme  DIVISION 

DOUGLASS,  D.  B.,  de  la  Section  Sanitaire  Automo- 
bile Americaine  N^  3,  sujet  Americain  : 

"A  de  nouveau  fait  preuve  d'un  devouement 
digne  des  plus  grands  eloges  en  assurant  nuit  et 
jour,  pendant  quinze  jours,  avec  un  parfait  mepris 
du  danger,  I'evacuation  de  nombreux  blesses  sur 
une  route  de  montagne  constamment  battue  par 
les  projectiles  ennemis." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th   DIVISION 

DOUGLASS,  D.  B.,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section  No.  3, 
an  American  subject:  Has  again  given  proof  of  a  devotion  deserving 
of  the  highest  praise,  by  safeguarding  night  and  day,  for  a  fortnight, 
with  utter  contempt  of  danger,  the  removal  of  many  wounded  over  a 
mountain  road  swept  by  the  enemy's  fire. 


254 


CITATION  A  LA   66eme  DIVISION 

Le  Condiicteur  DOYLE,  L.  C,  de  la  Section  Sani- 
taire  Automobile  Americaine  N^  3,  sujet  Ameri- 
cain: 

"A  de  nouveau  fait  preuve  d'un  devouement 
digne  des  plus  grands  eloges  en  assurant  nuit  et 
jour,  pendant  15  jours,  avec  un  parfait  mepris  du 
danger,  I'evacuation  de  nombreux  blesses  sur  une 
route  de  montagne  constamment  battue  par  les 
projectiles  ennemis." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th   DIVISION 

DOYLE,  L.  C,  Driver,  of  iVmerican  Automobile  wSanitary  Section  No. 
3,  an  American  subject:  Has  again  given  proof  of  a  devotion  de- 
serving of  the  highest  praise,  by  safeguarding  night  and  day,  for  a 
fortnight,  with  utter  contempt  of  danger,  the  removal  of  many  wounded 
over  a  mountain  road  swept  by  the  enemy's  fire. 


CITATION  A  LA   66eme  DIVISION 

Le  Conducteur  FENTON,  Powel,  de  la  Section  Sani- 
taire  Automobile  Americaine  N^  3,  sujet  Ameri- 
cain: 

*'A  de  nouveau  fait  preuve  d'un  devouement 
digne  des  plus  grands  eloges  en  assurant  nuit  et 
jour,  pendant  quinze  jours,  avec  an  parfait  mepris 
du  danger,  I'evacuation  de  nombreux  blesses  sur 
une  route  de  montagne  constamment  battue  par 
les  projectiles  ennemis." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th   DIVISION 

FENTON,  Pov/el,  Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section 
No.  3,  an  American  subject:  Has  again  given  proof  of  a  devotion 
deserving  of  the  highest  praise,  by  safeguarding  night  and  chy,  for 
a  fortnight,  with  utter  contempt  of  danger,  the  removal  of  many 
wounded  over  a  mountain  road  swept  by  the  enemy's  fire. 


256 


CITATION  SERVICE  DE   SANTE   66eme 
DIVISION 

GALATTI,  Stephen,  sujet  Americain,  Conducteur  a 
la  Section  Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  N©  3: 
*'A  pendant  quinze  jours  assure  nuit  et  jour,  sur 
une  route  de  niontagne  difficile,  et  constamment 
battue  par  les  projectiles  enneniis,  I'evacuation  de 
nonibreux  blesses,  avec  un  zele  et  un  devouement 
dignes  de  tous  les  eloges." 

"MENTIONED,"   SANITARY  SERVICE,   66th   DIVISION 

GALATTI,  Stephen,  Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section 
No.  3,  an  American  subject:  On  a  bad  mountain  road,  constantly 
swept  by  the  enemy's  fire,  safeguarded  night  and  day,  for  a  fortnight, 
the  removal  of  many  wounded,  with  a  zeal  and  devotion  deserving 
of  the  highest  praise. 


CITATION  SERVICE  DE  SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

GLOVER,  Halcott,  sous-chef  de  Section  a  la  Section 
Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  N©  ^: 

S'est  toujours  distingue  par  son  esprit  de 
devoir,  son  devouement,  son  calme  absolu  dans 
le  danger  et  ses  qualites  d'organisateur.  Conduite 
remarquable  lors  du  bombardement  du  22  Juillet. 
Toujours  a  son  poste  les  jours  d'attaque. 

"  MENTIONED  '  — SANITARY   SERVICE   OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

GLOVER,  Halcott,  second  in  command  of  American  Automobile  Sani- 
tary Section  No.  2 :  Has  constantly  distingviished  himself  by  his  sense 
of  duty,  his  devotion,  his  perfect  coolness  in  danger,  and  his  talent  as 
an  organizer.  Noteworthy  conduct  at  the  time  of  the  bombardment 
of  July  22.   Always  at  his  post  on  days  of  assault. 

25S 


LE  mEdecin  divisionnaire,  docteur 

GEORGES,  DE  LA  66eme  DIVISION,  CITE 
A   L'ORDRE   DE   LA   DIVISION: 

HALL,  Richard,  de  la  Section  Sanitaire  Americaine 
No  3. 

Le  Bon  Samaritain  qu'etait  Richard  Hall  avait 
pris  la  decision  de  voyager  beau  coup  de  concert 
avec  nous,  sur  notre  route,  pour  tendre  une  main 
inlassablement  secourable  a  ceux  de  nos  compa- 
triotes  militaires  que  les  hostilites  actuelles  au- 
raient  plonge  dans  le  malheur.  II  I'a  fait  depuis  de 
longs  niois  avec  la  constante  tenacite  que  vous 
savez. 

Sur  cette  route  un  projectile  ennemi  I'a  tue.  Je 
salue  bien  bas  sa  depouille  en  lui  disant,  a  lui  et  a 
ses  emules  en  devouement,  les  membres  de  la  Sec- 
tion Sanitaire  Americaine  N^  3,  mon  sentiment  de 
profonde  et  entiere  admiration  au  nom  du  Service 
de  Sante  de  la  66eme  Division. 

Par  ordre  du    General    commandant    la  6Q^^^ 
Division,  j'epingle  a  ce  cercueil  la  Croix  de  Guerre 
Frangaise  avec  citation  a  I'ordre  de  la  Division. 
26  Decembre  1915. 

THE  DIVISIONAL  SURGEON-IN-CHIEF,  OF  THE  66th  DIVI- 
SION, DR.  GEORGES,  MENTIONS  IN  THE  DIVISIONAL 
ORDER  OF  THE   DAY: 

HALL,  Richard,  of  the  American  Sanitary  Section  No.  3.  The  good 
Samaritan,  Richard  Hall,  had  determined  to  travel  often  with  us, 
on  our  regular  road,  in  order  to  extend  an  untiringly  helping  hand  to 
those  of  our  military  compatriots  upon  whom  the  present  hostilities 
had  brought  misfortune.  He  did  this  for  many  long  months  with  the 
tenacious  persistence  that  you  know  of. 

On  that  road  a  German  shell  killed  him.  Reverently  I  salute  his 
mortal  remains,  expressing  to  him  and  to  his  rivals  in  devotion  to  the 
cause,  the  members  of  American  Sanitary  Section,  No.  3,  my  senti- 
ment of  profound  and  unstinted  admiration,  in  behalf  of  the  Sani- 
tary Service  of  the  66th  Division. 

By  order  of  the  General  commanding  the  66th  Division,  I  pin  to  this 
coffin  the  French  Croix  de  Guerre,  together  with  this  mention  in  the 
divisional  order  of  the  day. 
December  26,  1915. 

260 


CITATION  A  LA   66eme  DIVISION 

HILL,  Lovering,  Chef  de  la  Section  Sanitaire  Ameri- 
caine  N«  3 : 

''A  de  nouveau  affirme  son  inlassable  devoue- 
ment  en  assurant  avec  une  froide  cranerie  et  dans 
les  conditions  tres  correctes  pendant  les  journees 
et  les  nuits  des  15,  16  et  17  Octobre  1915,  dans  une 
region  difficilement  practicable  et  en  partie  bat- 
tue par  le  feu  I'ennemi,  I'evacuation  de  nombreux 
blesses." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th   DIVISION 

HILL,  Lovering,  in  command  of  American  Sanitary  Section  No.  3: 
Has  demonstrated  anew  his  untiring  devotion  to  duty  by  safeguard- 
ing, with  cool  audacity  and  in  perfect  order,  during  the  days  and 
nights  of  October  15,  16,  17,  1915,  in  a  district  where  such  move- 
ments were  very  difficult  and  which  was  partly  within  range  of  the 
enemy's  guns,  the  removal  of  numerous  wounded. 


CITATION  A  LA   66eme  DIVISION 

Le  Lieutenant  HILL,  Lovering,  Commandant  la 
Section  Sanitaire  America  ine  N^  3,  sujet  ameri- 
cain : 

"A  de  nouveau  affirme  son  courage,  son  devoue- 
ment  et  son  esprit  d'organisation  en  faisant  assurer 
et  assurant  lui-meme,  nuit  et  jour,  pendant  quinze 
jours,  avec  un  parfait  mepris  du  danger,  I'evacua- 
tion de  nombreux  blesses  sur  une  route  de  mon- 
tagne  constamment  battue  par  les  projectiles 
ennemis." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th   DIVISION 

HILL,  Lovering,  Lieutenant  Commanding  American  Sanitary  Section 
No.  3,  an  American  subject:  Has  demonstrated  anew  his  courage, 
devotion  to  duty,  and  talent  for  organization  by  superintending  and 
taking  an  active  part  in  safeguarding  night  and  day,  for  a  fortnight, 
with  utter  contempt  of  danger,  the  removal  of  many  wounded,  over 
a  mountain  road  constantly  swept  by  the  enemy's  guns. 

262 


CITATION  A  LA   66eme  DIVISION 

HALE,  Dudley,  sujet  Americain,  domicilie  a  New 
York,  Etats-Unis,  Conducteur  de  la  Section  Sani- 
taire  Automobile  Americaine  No  3 : 

"A  affirme  son  courage  et  son  devouement  en 
allant  spontanement  recueillir,  sous  les  obus,  les 
blesses  d'un  corps  de  troupe  voisin  de  son  poste 
d'attache,  et  en  assurant  leur  evacuation  immedi- 
ate." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th   DIVISION 

HALE,  Dudley,  an  American  subject,  living  at  New  York,  United  States, 
Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section  No.  3:  Demon- 
strated his  courage  and  his  devotion  to  duty  by  going  out,  of  his  own 
motion,  under  shell-fire,  to  pick  up  the  wounded  of  a  force  near  his 
station,  and  ensuring  their  immediate  removal. 


CITATION  SERVICE   DE   SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

LOVELL,  Walter,  sous-chef  de  Section  a  la  Section 
Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine: 

"A  toujours  fait  preuve  d'un  moral  remarquable; 
a  toujours  ete  un  example  de  courage  pour  les 
autres  conducteur s,  et  un  precieux  auxiliaire  pour 
le  Chef  de  sa  Section." 

"MENTIONED"  — SANITARY  SERVICE  OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

XOVELL,  Walter,  second  in  command  of  the  American  Automobile 
Sanitary  Section :  Has  always  given  proof  of  a  noteworthy  spirit;  has 
constantly  set  the  example  of  courage  to  the  other  drivers,  and  has 
been  an  invaluable  assistant  to  the  commander  of  the  Section. 


264 


CITATION   SERVICE  DE   SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

McCONNELL,  James  R.,  Conducteur  a  la  Section 
Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  N"  2 : 

"Conducteur  engage  des  la  premiere  heure; 
anime  d'un  excellent  esprit;  a  toujours  fait  preuve 
d'un  courage  et  d'une  hardiesse  dignes  des  plus 
grands  eloges." 

"MENTIONED  "  —  SANITARY   SERVICE  OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

McCONNELL,  James  R.,  Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary 
Section  No.  2:  Volunteered  as  a  driver  at  the  very  beginning;  in- 
spired by  praiseworthy  zeal;  has  always  given  proof  of  a  courage  and 
fearlessness  worthy  of  the  highest  praise. 


CITATION  SERVICE  DE  SANTE  73eme 
DIVISION 

MARTIN,  William  T.,  Conducteur  a  la  Section 
Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  2  depuis  le  mois 
de  Decembre: 

"S'est  toujours  distingue  par  son  devouement 
extreme  et  par  son  esprit  de  devoir.  S'est  avance 
avec  sa  voiture  sous  un  violent  bombar dement  pour 
ramener  vers  I'arriere  plusieurs  blesses.  L'auto  fut 
tres  endommage  par  des  eclats  de  shrapnell." 

"MENTIONED"  — SANITARY  SERVICE  OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

MARTIN,  William  T.,  Driver  of  the  American  Automobile  Sanitary 
Section  No.  2,  since  December:  Has  constantly  distinguished  him- 
self by  his  extreme  devotion  and  his  sense  of  duty.  Drove  forward  in 
his  car  under  a  fierce  bombardment,  to  pick  up  several  wounded  men 
and  take  them  to  the  rear.  The  car  was  badly  damaged  by  pieces  of 
shrapnel. 

266 


CITATION  SERVICE   DE  SANTE   66eme 
DIVISION 

MELLEN,  J.,  sujet  Americain,  conducteur  a  la  Sec- 
tion Sanitaire  Automobile  America  ine  N«  3: 

"A  pendant  quinze  jours  assure  nuit  et  jour,  sur 
une  route  de  montagne  difficile  et  constamment 
battue  par  les  projectiles  ennemis,  I'evacuation  de 
nombreux  blesses,  avec  un  zele  et  un  devouement 
dignes  de  tous  les  eloges." 

"MENTIONED"  — SANITARY   SERVICE  OF  THE  66th 
DIVISION 

MELLEN,  J.,  Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section  No.  3, 
an  American  subject:  Safeguarded  night  and  day,  for  a  fortnight,  on 
a  difficult  mountain  road,  constantly  swept  by  the  enemy's  guns,  the 
removal  of  many  wounded,  with  a  zeal  and  devotion  worthy  of  the 
highest  praise. 


CITATION  SERVICE   DE  SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

OGILVIE,  Francis  Dashwood,  de  la  Section  Sani- 
taire Americaine  No  2,  conducteur  depuis  le  debut 
de  la  campagne: 

"S'est  toujours  distingue  par  son  esprit  de  de- 
voir, son  devouement  et  son  calme  absolu  dans  le 
danger." 

"MENTIONED"  — SANITARY  SERVICE  OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

OGILVIE,  Francis  Dashwood,  of  American  Sanitary  Section  No.  2, 
Driver  since  the  beginning  of  the  campaign:  Has  constantly  distin- 
guished himself  by  his  sense  of  duty,  his  devotion,  and  his  perfect 
coolness  in  danger. 


268 


CITATION  SERVICE   DE  SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

PUTNx\M,  J.  T.,  siijet  Americiiin,  conducteur  a  la 
Section  Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  N"  3: 

"A  pendant  quinze  jours  assure  nuit  et  jour,  sur 
une  route  de  montagne  difficile  et  constamment 
battue  par  les  projectiles  ennemis,  I'evacuation  de 
nombreux  blesses,  avec  un  zele  et  un  devouement 
dignes  de  tons  les  eloges." 

"MENTIONED"  — SANITARY   SERVICE  OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

PUTNAM,  J.  T.,  Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section 
No.  3,  an  American  subject:  Safeguarded  for  a  fortnight,  night  and 
day,  on  a  difficult  mountain  road  constantly  swept  by  the  enemy's 
guns,  the  removal  of  many  wounded,  with  a  zeal  and  devotion  worthy 
of  the  highest  praise. 


CITATION  A  LA   66eme  DIVISION 

Le  Conducteur  RICE,  Durant,  de  la  Section  Sanitaire 
Automobile  Americaine  N^  3,  sujet  Americain: 

"A  de  nouveau  fait  preuve  d'un  devouement 
digne  des  plus  grands  eloges  en  assurant  nuit  et 
jour,  pendant  quinze  jours,  avec  un  parfait  mepris 
du  danger,  Tevacuation  de  nombreux  blesses  sur 
une  route  de  montagne  constamment  battue  par 
les  projectiles  ennemis." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th  DIVISION 

RICE,  Durant,  Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section 
No.  3,  an  American  subject:  Has  demonstrated  anew  a  devotion 
worthy  of  the  highest  praise  by  safeguarding  night  and  day,  for  a  fort- 
night, with  utter  contempt  of  danger,  the  removal  of  many  wounded 
over  a  mountain  road  constantly  swept  by  the  enemy's  guns. 


270 


CITATION  SERVICE  DE  SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

ROEDER,  George,  Conducteur  a  la  Section  Sani- 
taire  Americaine  N^  2 : 

"Depuis  les  premiers  jours  de  la  mobilisation  a 
montre  au  service  de  la  Croix  Rouge  une  ardeur  et 
un  entrain  qui  ne  se  sont  jamais  ralentis." 

"MEXTIOXED"  — SANITARY   SERVICE   OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

ROEDER,  George,  Driver,  of  American  Sanitary  Section  No.  2:  Since 
the  first  days  of  mobilization  has  displayed  in  the  service  of  the  Red 
Cross  a  zeal  and  energy  Avhich  have  never  slackened. 


CITATION  A  LA   73eme  DIVISION 

wSALISBURY,  Edward,  Chef  de  la  Section  Sanitaire 
Automobile  Americaine  N^  *2 : 

"A  fait  preuve  des  meilleures  qualites  dans  la 
conduite  de  sa  section:  infatigable,  d'une  volonte 
ferme  et  resolue,  il  a  donne  Texemple  du  devoue- 
ment,  de  la  bonte  et  du  courage." 

"MENTIONED"'   IN  THE  73rd  DIVISION 

SALISBURY,  Edward,  Commander  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary 
Section  No.  2:  Has  given  proof  of  most  excellent  qualities  in  the 
management  of  his  Section;  indefatigable,  with  a  firm  and  deter- 
mined will,  he  has  set  a  fine  example  of  devotion,  kindliness,  and 
courage. 


272 


CITATION  SERVICE   DE  SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

SCHRODER,  Bernard,  de  la  Section  Sanitaire 
Automobile  Americaine  N^  2 : 

"Conducteur  engage  depuis  le  debut  de  la  cam- 
pagne,  n'a  cesse  de  faire  preuve  de  courage  et  de 
sang  froid.  Toujours  aux  postes  les  plus  dangereux, 
a  fait  admiration  de  tons  le  2'^2  Juillet  a  Pont-a- 
Mousson,  oil  il  a  porte  les  premiers  secours  aux 
victimes  du  bombardement." 

"MENTIONED'  —SANITARY   SERVICE   OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

SCHRODER,  Bernard,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section  No. 
2:  Volunteered  as  Driver  at  the  beginning  of  the  campaign,  and  has 
constantly  given  proof  of  great  courage  and  self-possession.  Always 
to  be  found  at  the  most  dangerous  posts,  he  aroused  universal  ad- 
miration on  July  22,  at  Pont-a-Mousson,  where  he  administered  first 
aid  to  the  victims  of  the  bombardment. 


CITATION  A  LA   66eme  DIVISION 

Le  Conducteur  SUCKLE Y,  H.,  de  la  Section  Sani- 
taire Americaine  N©  3,  sujet  Americain: 

"A  de  nouveau  fait  preuve  d'lm  devouement 
digne  des  plus  grands  eloges  en  assurant  nuit  et 
jour,  pendant  quinze  jours,  avec  im  parfait  mepris 
du  danger,  I'evacuation  de  nombreux  blesses  sur 
une  route  de  montagne  constamment  battue  par 
les  projectiles  ennemis." 

"MENTIONED"   IN  THE   66th   DIVISION 

SUCKLEY,  H.,  Driver,  of  American  Sanitary  Section  No.  3:  Has  again 
given  proof  of  a  devotion  deserving  of  the  highest  praise  by  safeguard- 
ing night  and  day,  for  a  fortnight,  with  utter  contempt  of  danger,  the 
removal  of  many  wounded  over  a  mountain  road  constantly  swept 
by  the  enemy's  fire. 


274 


CITATION  SERVICE   DE   SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

TAYLOR,  John,  Conducteiir  Americain  de  la  Section 
Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  No  2.  "Animedu 
meilleur  esprit,  plein  d'entrain  et  de  courage.  Le 
19  Decembre,  etant  de  service  a  Montauville,  un 
obus  ayant  explose  pres  du  poste  telephonique, 
s'est  porte  au  secours  des  blesses  qu'il  a  aides  a 
relever,  bien  qu'il  ait  ete  lui-meme  legerement  con- 
tusionne.  Le  20  Decembre,  1915,  lors  d'un  bom- 
bardement  violent  de  Pont-a-Mousson,  s'est  porte 
le  premier  au  secours  des  blesses  avec  un  reel 
mepris  du  danger." 

"MENTIONED"  — SANITARY   SERVICE   OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

TAYLOR,  John,  American,  Driver  in  the  American  Automobile  Sani- 
tary Section  No.  2:  Inspired  by  the  most  exemplary  sentiments,  full 
of  "go,"  and  courage.  On  December  19,  being  on  duty  at  Montau- 
ville, and  a  shell  having  exploded  near  the  telephone  station,  he  went 
to  the  assistance  of  the  wounded,  whom  he  helped  to  remove,  although 
himself  slightly  wounded.  On  December  20,  1915,  during  a  violent 
bombardment  of  Pont-a-Mousson,  was  the  first  to  go  to  the  assis- 
tance of  the  wounded,  with  a  genuine  disregard  of  danger. 


CITATION  SERVICE   DE  SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

WALDEN,  Donald  M.,  de  la  Section  Sanitaire 
Automobile  Americaine. 

"A  tou jours  fait  preuve  de  la  meilleure  volonte 
et  s'est  fait  remarquer  par  son  audace  lors  de 
I'attaque  du  4  Juillet." 

"MENTIONED"  — SANITARY   SERVICE   OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

WALDEN,  Donald  M.,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section. 
Has  constantly  given  proof  of  the  greatest  zeal,  and  drew  attention 
to  himself  by  his  fearlessness  during  the  assault  of  July  4. 


276 


CITATION   A   LA   2eme   DIVISION 
COLONIALE   ETAT-]NL\JOR 

WHITE,  Victor,  S/Chef  de  la  Section  Sanitaire 
Americaine  N^  1,  le  3  Mai  1916,  charge  d'evacuer 
les  blesses  d'un  village  violemment  bombarde,  a 
fait  preuve  de  sang  froid,  de  courage  et  du  plus 
beau  devouement  en  chargeant  rapidement  sa 
voiture,  et  en  la  mettant  aussitot  en  marche,  ne  se 
souciant  cjue  de  soustraire  ses  blesses  a  de  nouveaux 
coups  de  I'ennemi. 

Le  General  MAZILLIER,  Cdt.  la  2eme  Div. 
Signe:     MAZILLIER 

"MENTIONED"   IN   THE   2d   DIVISION,   COLONIAL  STAFF 

WHITE,  Victor,  Second  in  Command  of  American  Sanitary  Section 
No.  1,  on  May  3,  1916,  being  ordered  to  remove  the  wounded  from  a 
village  that  was  being  heavily  shelled,  gave  proof  of  coolness,  cour- 
age, and  the  noblest  devotion,  by  loading  his  car  rapidly,  and  in- 
stantly driving  away,  thinking  of  nothing  except  to  save  his  wounded 
from  being  hit  again.  (Signed)  General  Mazillier 

Commanding  the  2d  Division, 

CITATION  AU  ler  CORPS  D'ARMEE  COLO- 
NIALE DIRECTION  DU  SERVICE  DE 
SANTE 

WHITE,  Victor,  Conducteur. 

Engage  volontaire  a  la  S.  S.  A.  LT-1  depuis  Avril 
1915;  a  montre  en  toutes  cir Constances  beaucoup 
d'entrain,  de  courage  et  de  sang  froid.  S'est  par- 
ticulierement  distingue  lors  de  Tattaque  allemande 
par  les  gaz  le  22  Avril,  des  bombardements  de 
Dunkerque  et  pendant  les  evacuations  des  postes 
de  TEclusier  et  de  Cappy  (Fevrier-Mai  1916). 

"MENTIONED"  IN  THE   1st  COLONIAL  ARMY  CORPS, 
SANITARY  DIVISION 

WHITE,  Victor,  Driver.  Served  as  volunteer  in  the  S.  S.  A.  U-1  since 
April,  1915;  has  displayed  on  all  occasions  much  energy,  courage,  and 
self-possession.  Distinguished  himself  particularly  at  the  time  of  the 
German  gas  attack  on  April  22,  during  the  bombardments  of  Dun- 
kirk, and  during  the  removal  of  the  wounded  from  the  stations  of 
Eclusier  and  Cappy  (February-May,  1916). 

278 


CITATION  SERVICE  DE  SANTE   66eme 
DIVISION 

WALKER,  J.  M.,  sujet  Americain,  conducteur  a  la 
Section  Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  No  3: 

"A  pendant  quinze  jours  assure  nuit  et  jour,  sur 
une  route  de  montagne  difficile  et  constamment 
battue  par  les  projectiles  ennemis,  I'evacuation  de 
nombreux  blesses,  avec  un  zele  et  un  devouement 
dignes  de  tons  les  eloges." 

"MENTIONED"  — SANITARY   SERVICE  OF  THE   66th 
DIVISION 

WALKER,  J.  M.,  Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section 
No.  3:  Safeguarded  for  a  fortnight,  night  and  day,  on  a  difficult 
mountain  road  constantly  swept  by  the  enemy's  guns,  the  removal 
of  many  wounded,  with  a  zeal  and  devotion  worthy  of  the  highest 
praise. 


CITATION  SERVICE   DE  SANTE   73eme 
DIVISION 

WILLIS,  Harold,  Conducteur  a  la  Section  Sanitaire 
x\utomobile  Americaine  N^  ^ : 

"A  toujours  fait  preuve  d'un  courage  et  d'une 
hardiesse  dignes  des  plus  grands  eloges,  notam- 
ment  pendant  I'attaque  du  4  Juillet,  s'offrant  pour 
aller  chercher  des  blesses  dans  un  endroit  tres 
perilleux,  et  eut  sa  voiture  criblee  d'eclats  d'obus." 

"MENTIONED"  — SANITARY   SERVICE  OF  THE   73rd 
DIVISION 

WILLIS,  Harold,  Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sanitary  Section 
No.  2:  Has  always  given  proof  of  a  courage  and  fearlessness  wor- 
thy of  the  highest  praise,  notably  during  the  assault  of  July  4,  in 
volunteering  to  go  after  the  wounded  in  a  very  dangerous  spot;  his 
car  was  riddled  with  fragments  of  shell. 

280 


WOOLVERTON,  William  H.,  Condiicteur  a  la  Sec- 
tion Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine  N^  1: 

*'Soiis  im  bombardement  incessant  a  continue  a 
assurer  le  service  des  evacuations  sans  la  moindre 
hesitation.  A  un  endroit  particulierement  expose, 
au  moment  oil  les  obus  tombaient  avec  violence,  a 
arrete  sa  voiture  pour  prendre  des  blesses  qu'il  a 
aide  a  charger  avec  le  plus  grand  calme,  donnant 
ainsi  preuve  de  courage  et  de  sang-froid." 

WOOLVERTON,  William  H.,  Driver,  of  American  Automobile  Sani- 
tary Section  No.  1 :  Under  an  incessant  bombardment  continued  to 
superintend  the  removals  without  the  slightest  hesitation.  At  one 
specially  exposed  spot,  where  shells  were  falling  in  swift  succession,  he 
stopped  his  car  to  pick  up  some  wounded  men  whom  he  helped  to 
put  aboard,  with  the  utmost  coolness,  thus  demonstrating  his  courage 
and  self-possession. 


282 


In  the  presence  of  mortal  conflict,  where  the  fulfil- 
ment of  their  labor  of  friendship  lies,  the  men  whose 
names  here  follow  have  seen  fortitude  greater  even 
than  the  courage  of  the  wounded.  They  have  beheld 
the  strength  of  a  people  unified  by  sacrifice  so  com- 
plete that  its  individuals  are  unconscious  of  personal 
heroism.  They  have  worked  side  by  side  with  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  men  and  women  who  in  con- 
summating this  sacrifice  have  yielded,  without  meas- 
ure of  cost,  their  ambition  and  love,  and  challenged 
death  —  with  dauntless  resolution  to  save  not  only 
their  country,  but  the  principles  of  democracy  for  the 
whole  world.  France,  invincible  in  her  resistance,  has 
issued  no  acclamation  of  glory,  has  sought  no  sym- 
pathy for  the  costliness  of  the  onslaught,  nor  pub- 
lished denunciation  of  the  enemy,  but  by  intrepid 
manhood  has  won  the  honor  of  all  nations. 

These  Americans,  in  their  service  of  conservation, 
have  gained  immutable  evidence  of  that  spirit  upon 
which  the  highest  citizenship  and  patriotism  depend. 
Whatever  bitterness  chance  may  bring  into  their 
futures,  they  at  least  can  never  lose  faith  in  human 
nature  —  remembering  the  standard  under  which  these 
days  of  their  youth  have  been  consecrated. 

H.  D.  S. 


BONNE  CHANCE  50LDAT5  I>E,  TRANCE 


-5  /iSii/i^ 


XIV 

MEMBERS  OF  THE  FIELD  SERVICE 

AMERICAN   AMBULANCE 

APRIL  1.  1916 

HaiM  Residence  University   Field 

or  College     Sec. 

Eustace  L.  Adams Newtonville,  Mass Trinity 3 

Harry  Adamson Pittsfield,  Mass 4 

Fred  Hunter  All Allendale,  S.C Harvard. ...  4 

Julian  Allen New  York  City 4 

***A.  Piatt  Andrew Gloucester,  Mass Princeton- 
Harvard.  .   1 

Charles  L.  Appleton New  York  City Harvard ....  1 

Donald  C.  Armour Evanston,  111 Yale 5 

Kenneth  L.  Austin Lausanne 4 

Percy  L.  Avard New  York  City 1 

♦♦Roger  M.  L.  Balbiani Paris 1 

Alwyn  Ball New  York  City 1 

Norman  L.  Barclay New  York  City Yale 2 

Edward  Bartlett Florence,  Italy Brown 4 

.  ''Fredk.  Bate Chicago 1 

Frank  Leaman  Baylies New  Bedford,  Mass 1 

Malbone  H.  Birckhead . .  .  .New  York  City Harvard. ...  8 

Percy  A.  Blair ^  .Kent,  England Harvard. . . .  4 

Robert  Bowman Lake  Forest,  111 Yale 1 

Jackson  Boyd, Harrisburg,  Penn Princeton ...  8 

Frank  B.  Boyer Boston Harvard. . . .  G 

♦•♦  Member  of  Transportation  Committee.     *♦  Section  Director.     "  Base  Officer. 

287 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Name  Residence  University    Field 

or  College      Sec. 

*Robt.  P.  Breese New  York  City Harvard J 

Michael  Brenner New  York  City 1 

Leigh  ton  Brewer New  York  City 1 

John  F.  Brown,  Jr Readville,  Mass Harvard 1 

John  P.  Brown Montclair,  N.J 1 

Lloyd  S.  Bryant Sparks,  Nevada Univ.  of 

Nevada.  .  0 

Wm.  S.  O.  Budd San  Antonio,  Texas 1 

Thomas  B.  Buffura New  York  City Harvard  ...  8 

Robt.  G.  B.  Burleigh Hudson,  Mass Univ.  of 

Nevada.  .  4 

Carleton  Burr Boston Harvard 2 

Leslie  Buswell Gloucester,  Mass Cambridge. .  2 

Victor  B.  Caldwell Omaha,  Neb Yale 3 

*Joshua  G.  B.  CampbeU.  .  .New  York  City 1 

David  Carb Boston Harvard ...   1 

*Arthur  Graham  Carey. . .  .Cambridge,  Mass Harvard  ...  3 

Philip  A.  Carroll New  York  City Harvard. ...  0 

James  L.  Carson Chicago 1 

Clarence  A.  Castle St.  Joseph,  Mo Kansas J 

Philip  T.  Gate Boston Harvard. . . .  3 

James  R.  Childs Lynchburg,  Va Harvard J 

John  W.  Clark Flushing,  N.Y Yale 3 

Philip  R.  Clark Shelter  Island,  N.Y 3 

J.  Sullivan  Cochrane Boston Harvard ....  A 

Charles  R.  Codman Boston Harvard. ...  3 

Samuel  H.  Codman Worcester,  Mass 1 

Charles  H.  Cogswell Cedar  Rapids,  Iowa.  .  .  .  Iowa 4 

William  Dwight  Crane New  York  City Harvard ....  4 

Charles  T.  Crocker Pitchburg,  Mass 8 

Charles  R.  Cross Brookline,  Mass Harvard 1 

Tingle  Woods  Culbertson .  .Sewickly,  Pa Princeton.  .  1 

John  E.  Cunningham . . .  ^.Boston M.I.T 1 

*Richard  J.  Cuninghame .  . .  Edinburgh 4 

Edmund  J.  .Curley New  York  City Harvard 3 

Enos  Curtin New  York  City M.I.T 2 

Nicholson  F.  Curtis Cleveland,  Ohio Western  Re- 
serve ....  4 
Edwin  G.  Gushing New  York  City 4 

Charles  C.  Davis Boston Harvard. . . .  4 

*  Assistant  Section  Director. 

288 


AMERICAN   AMBULANCE   FIELD   SERVICE 

Name  Residence  University    Field 

or  College      Sec 

Mahlon  W.  Davis Brookline,  Mass 2 

Alden  Davison New  York  City Yale 8 

Fredk.  T.  Davison New  York  City Yale 0 

Benjamin  F.  Dawson Philadelphia U.  of  Pa 3 

Harwood  B.  Day Providence,  R.I 1 

Samuel  G.  Dayton Philadelphia Princeton- 

U.  ofPa..  4 

Laurence  H.  Delabarre ....  Boston Harvard 4 

B.  Garnett  Diuguid Lynchburg,  Va U.  of  Va J 

Arthur  D.  Dodge New  York  City Yale 8 

Ralph  Z.  Doty New  York  City 4 

David  B.  Douglass West  Newton,  Mass 3 

Jerome  L  H.  Downes Brookline,  Mass Harvard 1 

Luke  Doyle Worcester,  Mass Yale 3 

Vivian  du  Bouchet Paris i 

Rex  W.  Dunlap Kansas  City,  Mo Yale 4 

Leonard  B.  Edwards Philadelphia 1 

William  K.  B.  Emerson . .  .New  York  City Harvard 3 

George  K.  End New  York  City Swarthmore- 

Columbia 

Josiah  W.  Eno New  York  City 1 

John  E.  Ewell Washington,  D.C Johns  Hop- 
kins    0 

Charles  S.  Faulkner Keene,  N.H 8 

Samuel  P.  Fay Boston Harvard. . . .  1 

William  P.  Fay New  York  City Harvard. . . .  2 

Powel  Fenton Philadelphia U.  of  Pa. . . .  3 

Danforth  B.  Ferguson Brooklyn,  N.Y 2 

Fearchear  Ferguson New  York  City 2 

Pierre  Fischoff Paris 2 

C.  Stuart  Forbes Boston Harvard. . . .  4 

Frederick  M.  Forbush Detroit,  Mich 8 

Giles  B.  Francklyn Lausanne 1 

George  F.  Freeborn San  Francisco,  Cal Yale 0 

♦♦Charles  J.  Freeborn San  Francisco,  Cal Yale 0 

F.  H.  Gailor Memphb,  Tenn Sewane&- 

Columbb   2 

♦Stephen  Galatti New  York  City Harvard. .  .    3 

Richard  C.  Gartz .  , Chicago 8 

Harold  H.  Giles Colorado  Springs Princeton. . .  1 

•♦  Section  Director.  *  Assistant  Section  Director. 

289 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Name  Residence  University    Field 

or  College      Sec. 

William  D.  Gilmore Chambersburg,  Pa Princeton. . ,  0 

Kenneth  Girdwood West  Orange,  N.J 8 

John  L.  Glenn Chester,  S.C Wafford. . . .  0 

*John  H.  Glover London 2 

Robt.  R.  Gooch Charlottesville,  Va U.  of  Va. . .  .  0 

John  R.  Graham Philadelphia U.  of  Pa 2 

John  McC.  Granger New  York Fordham ...  1 

Roger  Griswold Cambridge,  Mass Harvard  —  2 

***Edmund  Gros Paxis 0 

Herbert  D.  Hale New  York  City Harvard. . . .  3 

Richard  N.  Hall Ann  Arbor,  Mich Dartmouth.  3 

(killed  in  service) 

Louis  P.  Hall Ann  Arbor,  Mich Dartmouth .  .  3 

Thos.  L.  Hamilton New  York  City Yale 3 

Paul  S.  Haney Quakertown,  Pa Princeton ...  1 

Sigurd  Hansen Paris 1,4 

Henry  K.  Hardon New  York  City Harvard 3 

James  W.  Harle New  York  City 2 

H.  Sydnor  Harrison Charleston,  ^W.  Va Columbia ...  1 

Willis  B.  Haviland Indianapolis Annapolis.. .  2 

Bartlett  E.  Hayden Watertown,  Mass 1 

Walter  H.  Hellier Boston Yale 2 

Lawrence  Hemenway Boston ; .  .  .  Harvard 1 

Alex.  L  Henderson New  York  City Harvard 3 

Dudley  L.  Hill Peekskill,  N.Y 4 

**Lovering  Hill New  York  City Harvard 3 

Laurence  W.  Hitt New  York  City Cornell 3 

Henry  H.  Hobbs New  York  City Yale 4 

William  A.  Hoeveler Pittsburg U.  of  Pitts- 
burg. ...  2 

G^eorge  M.  Hollister Grand  Rapids,  Mich Harvard ...  3 

Thomas  G.  Holt Grand  Rapids,  Mich Yale 3 

Carlyle  H.  Holt Hingham,  Mass Harvard 2 

George  G.  L.  Howe Nashville,  Tenn Princeton. . ,  4 

John  F.  W.  Huffer Paris 2 

♦*J.  Cowan  Hulbert St.  Louis 4 

Oscar  A.  lasigi Boston M.LT 1,  8 

Jerry  T.  Illich San  Diego,  Cal U.  of  Cal. .  .    3 

Robt.  W.  Imbrie Washington 1 

♦  Assistant  Section  Director.  ***  Member  of  Transportation  Committee. 

♦♦  Section  Director. 

290 


AMERICAN   AMBULANCE  FIELD   SERVICE 

Name  Residence  University    Field 

or  College      Sec. 
Henry  G.  Iselin Genets,  Manche,  France 2 

Leslie  P.  Jacobs Laramie,  Wyoming Harvard  ....  8 

Everett  Jackson Colorado  Springs Colorado 

College ...  3 

Allyn  R.  Jennings Philadelphia Harvard 3 

C.  Chouteau  Johnson New  York  City 1 

Terence  R.  Johnston Chicago M.LT 2 

Fredk.  S.  Judson New  York  City 3 

Owen  Kenan Kenansville,  N.C U.  of  North 

Carolina  .  2 

Peter  L.  Kent New  York  City 4 

Hugo  A.  Kenyon Peacedale,  R.I Brown 1 

Grenville  T.  Kec^h New  Rochelle,  N.Y 8 

*Harold  L.  Kingsland New  York  City Cambridge. .  1 

Arthur  Kingsland New  York  City 3 

Robert  B.  Kroll Paris Columbia ...  0 

PauJ  B.  Kurtz Gemmntown,  Pa Harvard  —  1 

Julian  L.  Lathrop New  Hope,  Pa Harvard 1 

Empie  Latimer Wilmington,  N.C Princeton ...  1 

**RiGhard  Lawrence Groton,  Mass Harvard 3 

David  W.  Lewis Brooklyn Harvard 8 

Philip  C.  Lewis Indianapolis,  Ind Harvard ....  1 

Howard  B.  Lines Cambridge,  Mass Dartmouth .  1 

*Preston  Lockwood St.  Louis,  Mo Washington 

Univ....  S 

*Walter  Lovell Newtonville,  Mass Harvard  —  2 

Qiarles  T.  Lovering Boston Harvard J 

James  Otis  Lyman New  York  City Harvard J 

John  Lyon Roselyn,  Va J 

Ridgeley  Lytle New  York  City Princeton- 
Oxford  ...  J 

George  A.  McCaU Philadelphia U.  of  Pa. .  . .  4 

George  B.  McClary Oak  Park,  111 Dartmouth .   8 

Jamfes  R.  McConnell Carthage,  N.C U.  of  Va. . .  .   2 

John  H.  McFadden Liverpool U.  of  Pa 0 

Donald  H.  McGibeny Indianapolte Hamilton 

College...   1 
'Dallas  D.  L.  McGrew Boston Harvard  —  S 

•  Aasistant  Section  Director.  •*  Section  Director. 

291 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Name  Residence  University    Field 

or  College       Sec. 

Logan  McMenemy Rockford,  111 Yale 2 

Douglas  MacMonagle New  York  City U.  of  Cal. .  .    8 

♦*Robert  Maclay New  York  City Columbia ...  1 

Francis  P.  Magoun Cambridge,  Mass Harvard —  1 

Harry  De  Maine Roby,  Lancashire A 

Verne  Marshall Cedar  Rapids,  Iowa.  .  .  .Goe  College.  4 

Kenneth  Marr Livermore,  Cal 2 

WiUiam  T.  Martin BurUngton,  N.J U.  of  Pitts- 
burg  2 

**Austin  B.  Mason Boston,  Mass Harvard. .  .4,  8 

Robert  Matter Marion,  Ind Princeton ...  3 

John  Melcher New  York  City Harvard 3 

Joseph  M.  Melien Garden  City,  N.Y Harvard 3 

H.  Kirby  Moore Philadelphia 3 

Donald  W.  Monteith New  York  City 2 

R.  B.  Montgomery New  York  City Princeton. . .  2 

Philip  R.  Morss Chestnut  Hill,  Mass Harvard 3 

Robert  T.  W.  Moss New  York  City Harvard. . . .  2 

°Allan  H.  Muhr Paris 0 

Cortland  J.  Myers Cambridge,  Mass Dartmouth .  4 

Albert  Nalle Bryn  Mawr,  Penn Princeton ...  3 

David  T.  Nelson Mayville,  N.Dak U.  of  N.Dak  1 

Ogden  Nevin Burlington,  N.J Yale 1 

Harry  E.  Nolan Chicago Yale 2 

John  Oakman New  York  City Williams ...  1 

Leonard  Ober Baltimore Princeton. .  .  3 

Francis  Ogilvie Lindfield,  Sussex 2 

James  A.  O'Neill Jersey  City,  N.J Columbia ...  2 

Earl  D.  Osborn New  York  City Princeton. . .  3 

Donald  O.  Page New  York  City Princeton.. .  4 

Scott  H.  Paradise Milford,  Conn Yale J 

Samuel  H.  Paul Chestnut  Hill,  Pa 1 

Waldo  Peirce Bangor,  Maine Harvard 3 

J.  R.  O.  Perkins W.  Newton,  Mass Harvard —  3 

Oliver  H.  Perry Ehnhurst,  N.Y Princeton. . .  4 

G.  W.  Phillips S.  Sudbury,  Mass M.I.T S 

Carleton  M.  Pike Lubec,  Maine Bowdoin.  .  .  4 

Regis  H.  Post New  York  City Harvard  —  B 

Thomas  W.  Potter Westchester,  N.Y 3 

**  Section  Director.  "  Base  Officer. 

292 


AMERICAN  AMBULANCE   FIELD   SERVICE 

Name  Residence  \  University    Field 

or  College       Sec, 

Emory  Pottle Lago  di  Como,  Italy. . .  .Amherst. . . .  2 

Howard  H.  Powel Newport,  R.I Harvard ....  2 

William  Prickett Wilmington,  Del Princeton. .  .  4 

T.  Jackson  Putnam Boston Harvard . . . .  S 

Kenneth  M.  Quimby Pittsburg,  Pa 3 

Walter  K.  Rainsford Ridgefield,  Conn Harvard ....  3 

Beverley  Rantoul Salem,  Mass ^ 4 

John  V.  Ray Charleston,  W.Va U.  of  Va..  . .  3 

Charles  Reed Great  Barrington,  Mass 1 

George  F.  Reese Ravenna,  Ohio 3,  1 

♦Henry  J.  Reilly W^inneta,  111 West  Point .  G 

*Durant  Rice New  York  City Harvard ....  3 

Allan  S.  Richardson New  Brunswick,  N.J 1 

Gardner  Richardson New  York  City Yale 1 

Carroll  G.  Riggs Washington,  D.C Yale 2 

Malcolm  T.  Robertaon Brooklyn,  N.Y 1 

Rober  T.  Roche East  Orange,  N.J Princeton  ...  1 

John  E.  Rochfort New  York  City 1 

♦George  J.  Rockwell Bradbury,  Conn 1,  4 

♦George  H.  Roeder New  Brunswick,  N.J Harvard ....  2 

Randolph  Rogers Grand  Rapids,  Mich 8 

Clifford  A.  DeRoode New  York  City 1 

Laurence  Rumsey Buffalo,  N.Y Harvard ....  1 

Dolph  F.  Ryan New  York  City Fordham. .  .   1 

Payton  H.  Ryan New  York  City Fordham  ...   1 

♦♦Edward  Van  D.  Salisbury .  Chicago Harvard ....  2 

Roswell  Sanders Newburyport,  Mass ' 4 

Daniel  Sargent Wellesley,  Mass Harvard.  ...  3 

J.  S.  R.  Sayer New  York  City 1 

James  N.  Schoonmaker ....  New  York  City Trinity  Col- 
lege    4 

Bernard  M.  P.  Schroder.  .  .Paris Northwest- 
ern U....  2 

William  B.  Seabrook Atlanta,  Ga Newberry 

ColUS.C.  8 

Edward  N.  Seccombe Derby,  Conn 2 

Loyall  F.  Sewall Bath,  Maine Bowdoin.  .  .  4 

Edward  W.  Shattuck Bristol,  N.H 3 

N.  M.  Shattuck Bristol,  N.H Amherst ....  8 

Henry  Sheahan Topsfield,  Mass Harvard ....  2 

L  •*  Section  Director.  ♦  Aaaiataot  Section  Director. 

293 


FRIENDS  OF  FRANCE 

Name  Residence  University    Field 

or  College       Sec. 

Hiram  Sibley South  Bend,  Ind 1 

James  H.  Smith,  Jr New  York  City Harvard 3 

Philip  D.  H.  Smith Brooklyn,  N.Y Dartmouth.  2 

Thos.  John  Smith Chicago 2 

George  F.  Spaulding Orange  Co.,  Cal U.  of  Ari- 
zona  1 

Ernest  N.  Stanton Grosse  Isle,  Mich U.  of  Mich  . .  4 

*Roland  W.  Stebbins Williamstown,  Mass Harvard 1 

George  Steel Grenoble 4 

William  Y.  Stevenson Philadelphia U.  of  Pa. ...   1 

*Henry  M.  Suckley Rhinebeck,  N.Y' Harvard 3 

Edward  H.  Sudbury New  York  City Amherst ....  2 

William  M.  Sullivan Fall  River,  Mass Brown  -  Har- 
vard   0 

Robt.W.  Sykes Brooklyn,  N.Y 4 

Arthur  R.  Taber New  York  City Princeton ...  4 

Melvin  F.  Talbot Portland,  Maine Harvard 3 

John  C.  Taylor New  York  City Fordham. . .  2 

Joseph  M.  Taylor New  York  City Fordham. . .   1 

Lionel  V.  Teft Peoria,  111 Dartmouth.   3 

Aubry  L.  Thomas Cheyney,  Pa Princeton ...  8 

William  A.  Tilt New  York  City Columbia. . .  4 

Edward  I.  Tinkham Upper  Montclair,  N.J.. .  .Cornell 3 

Paul  Tison New  York  City Harvard. . . .  3 

Robert  C.  Toms Marion,  Iowa Ames  Univ. .  4 

Edward  D.  Townsend New  York  City Princeton. . .  1 

♦♦Herbert  P.  Townsend New  York  City Princeton ...  1 

Allen  Tucker New  York  City 3 

John  G.  UnderhUl Flushing,  N.Y Williams ...   1 

William  E.  Van  Dorn Chicago,  111 Wabash 2 

George  Van  Santvoord  . .  .  .Troy,  N.Y Yale 8 

Alfred  Waddell Ottawa,  Kansas U.  of  Kansas  4 

Carl  Wainwright Boston 2 

Donald  M.  Walden Brooklyn,  N.Y 2 

*J.  Marquand  Walker New  York  City Harvard 3 

William  H.  C.  Walker Cambridge,  Mass 2 

Richard  C.  Ware East  Milton,  Mass Harvard. . . .  4 

Robert  H.  Warren Yankton,  S.D Yankton- 
Oxford. . .  J 

*  Assistant  Section  Director.  ♦*  Section  Director. 

294 


AMERICAN   AMBULANCE   FIELD   SERVICE 


Name 


Residence 


University    Field 
or  College      Sec. 

Paul  B.  Watson Milton,  Mass Harvard ....  3 

*Herman  A.  Webster Chicago Yale 2 

Reginald  H.  Weller New  York  City 4 

Walter  H.  Wheeler Yonkers,  N.Y Harvard ....  3 

Kenneth  T.  White Grosse  Isle,  Mich.  . U.  of  Mich.  4 

*Victor  G.  White New  York  City 1 


Harold  B.  Willis Boston Harvard. . . 

Fredk.  J.  Winant New  York  City Princeton  . 

Charles  P.  Winsor Concord,  Mass Harvard 

Oliver  Wolcott Milton,  Mass Harvard 

Benjamin  R.  Woodworth .  .Germantown,  Pa 


William  H.  Woolverton.  .  .New  York  City Yale 1 


*  Assistant  Section  Director. 


-V-'. .::>:> 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


DATE  DUE 

1 

a^  .     .   . 

:          '^^■KA    i-,i\]  3 

1  1996 

^lfSlfi.C 

MAY  15V 

)96 

M 

COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 


0039046915 


